Return to Downton Abbey
by downtonabbey15
Summary: WWII breaks out, and George is anxious to turn 18 and fight. Maggie tries to talk him out of it, while William Bates considers running away to join. Meanwhile, the estate faces major changes. Cruddy summary, but it's going to follow the family after the war and become kind of a series. Featuring more characters than listed.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Prologue

AN: So, this is my first "Downton Abbey" fanfiction. I am absolutely crazy for the show, and I just had to write for it. I have to say, I think I'm quite knowledgeable on British and WWII stuff, but keep in mind I am not British, so some things may be slightly inaccurate. (But I research as much as I can, so hopefully nothings too farfetched.) Anyway, I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I thought I'd give it a go. Keep in mind, I don't like getting rid of characters. So, everyone from "Downton Abbey" is still here. (Including the Dowager Countess, because I just couldn't kill her off.) Well, I hope this isn't too horrible, and I hope you like it. **This will contain some spoilers for Series 6, although it hasn't premiered in the U.S. yet, so some stuff I'm still not sure of. (Like, do Anna and Bates have a boy or a girl? I'd like to know.)** I'll accept any ideas as long as they're appropriate, and I will give you credit if I use the idea. I hope you enjoy it! :)

-downtonabbey15

* * *

 _September, 1939_

The sun rose shyly over the horizon, sending gentle rays across the hillsides of Yorkshire. (Literally the most cliché beginning, right? But I couldn't figure out another way to start it.) Animals and people alike slowly began their day. But in Downton Abbey, all was not as calm.

The downstairs servants' quarters were bustling as the cooks prepared breakfast and the servants attended to their duties. Elsie Carson sat at her desk, quickly reviewing the list of guests for an event Lady Grantham had planned when a knock sounded at the door.

She turned and had barely said, "Come in," when her husband Charles entered. He looked agitated, a trait that was unusual for him.

"Have you seen the papers this morning?" he asked her urgently.

"No. Why?"

* * *

"What do you mean 'invaded'?"

"Exactly what I just said," George Crawley answered. "Germany invaded Poland. It's in the paper." The 17-year-old dropped down on his sister's bed.

12-year-old Maggie Talbot turned in her chair where Anna was brushing her hair. "But, didn't we threaten war on them if they went through with it?" she asked confusedly.

"Well, apparently they've ignored that. They invaded two days ago."

Maggie sat back in the chair until Anna finished. Then she sat beside her brother, peering at the newspaper in his hands.

He pulled it from her, trying to hide the graphic image on the front that had more than a few bodies. "Don't look at the picture."

Maggie gave him a look. "I'm not five. Let me see."

George reluctantly surrendered the paper.

Maggie gazed over it, trying to ignore the gruesome photograph. However, she found her eyes continuously drawn to it.

George snatched it away. "See? That's why I didn't want you looking at it." He rose from the bed and exited the room, eager to go to breakfast and forget about the whole ordeal.

Maggie caught him on the stairs and had to walk quickly to keep up with him. "Does it mean we're at war now?" she asked quietly.

George stepped off the last step and turned to her, just as a voice behind them said, "Who's at war?"

Both children turned to see Henry descending the stairs behind them. He was still buttoning his jacket.

George swallowed. "I'm guessing you haven't seen the papers yet."

Henry met them at the bottom. "No." He took in their faces. "What's happened?"

George handed the paper to his stepfather. "Germany's invaded Poland. Two days ago."

Henry scanned the front cover of the newspaper, then folded it up. "The both of you go in for breakfast. I need to speak with your mother." He hurriedly ascended the stairs, while George and Maggie shared a look before heading towards the dining room.

* * *

"It doesn't make any sense," Robert said, placing his hand on the chair of library desk. "Why would Germany invade Poland if they knew we had threatened war? How could they think they'd get away with it?"

"Maybe they've got a bigger army than they wanted us to think," Tom suggested.

"But Hitler can't possibly believe that other countries will support him."

"Rumour **(AN: See how I used the British spelling? :))** has it Russia's with them," Henry said, taking a seat on the sofa.

Robert turned to him. "Russia?" he asked in disbelief. "Our ally?"

Henry shook his head. "They're not our ally anymore. I read it a few weeks ago. They're on their side."

Robert brought his hand to his face. "Crikey, what a mess."

* * *

"If we go to war, does that mean I can enlist?"

Anna turned to her son. "No," she said firmly.

Bates set down his paper to look at his son. "William, you're barely fourteen. The army couldn't legally take you, even if you enlisted."

William sat back in his chair, leaning it so it rested against the wall of the servants' hall. "So? If things get bad enough, they'll need everyone they can get."

"Don't say that," Anna scolded. She sat down beside her husband with her cup of tea. "I hate all this talk of Germany. It makes me nervous."

"There's nothing to be nervous about," Bates said. "Hitler's harmless. He's all talk and no show."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Anna said under her breath.

Suddenly, footsteps pounded on the stairs, and Maggie appeared in the doorway. The group began to rise, but Maggie waved them off irritably. She had never truly cared about her rank, nor the social rules that governed the house. "William, Master George and I are going to the telegraph office to listen to the wireless. Do you want to come?"

William nodded. "Sure."

The two quickly headed up the stairs, and Anna turned to her husband.

"What was all that about?"

"His lordship said Winston Churchill's giving a speech this afternoon on Germany. Perhaps they want to listen."

Anna sighed. "So, by tonight the country will be in turmoil?"

Bates couldn't answer.

* * *

AN: So, I know that was horrible, but I wanted to get a prologue out there. Please review if you guys would like to see this story continued! I promise it will get better! :)

-downtonabbey 15


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

AN: Well, here's the second chapter! I might go on and off on naming my chapters. It just depends on if I can come up with a not-so-crappy title. Anyways, read on! And please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

Maggie found it difficult...being the youngest in the family, to say the least. She was 12, and while Mary always said she had more freedoms than she had had when she was a girl, Maggie still felt terribly left out at times.

She, George, and William had returned to the estate fairly quickly after hearing Neville Chamberlain's declaration of war on the wireless at the Grantham Arms. Upon their arrival, they found that Robert had already received a telegram from some Commanding Officer. Then Maggie was whisked back upstairs to the nursery, while the rest of the family was called downstairs for a meeting. It wasn't that Maggie was alone in the nursery. She had Marigold, who was 14. But Marigold was just too obedient for her own good sometimes. And besides. It just wasn't fair that the two of them be kept upstairs. George was included, and he wasn't that much older!

Nanny Brown was a nice old woman. She truly was. And both the girls liked her. But Maggie couldn't help but take advantage of her naivety. Besides, sneaking out of the nursery wasn't all that hard to do.

That was why she was currently sitting with her knees curled up to her chest under the tea table in the library, concealed by the white tablecloth draped over the wood. She was truly surprised that no one had discovered her presence yet. Usually Uncle Tom could see right through any antics.

"But will they use conscription again?" Cora was asking her husband.

"Of course they will," Robert answered. "What else would they do?"

"You're not going to volunteer, are you?" Mary asked Henry quietly.

Henry shook his head. "I haven't decided yet."

Maggie's breath caught in her throat. Papa couldn't enlist! That would be horrible! She had heard her mother talking to Aunt Edith and Grandmama about the Great War. She didn't want that to happen to her father!"

Suddenly, a hand lifted the tablecloth, and Maggie let out a gasp. Thomas's face peered at her own.

"God, Barrow, you frightened me half to death!"

"Whatever are you doing under here?" the under butler asked.

"I'm listening!" Maggie whispered. "Please don't give me away! I can't stand not knowing what's going on."

Thomas sighed, then smiled slightly. "If you get caught, and anyone asks, I didn't know you were down here."

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief, then went back to her eavesdropping.

"Is anyone else involved yet?" Tom asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Robert said. "But it's possible Germany has allies. I'm sure Mussolini's made plans."

"But I thought we made a contract with them," Cora said, bewildered. "I thought they couldn't have a military or start anything."

"Well, whatever that agreement said, they've broken it," Robert said, sighing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better go over and see Mama. She won't want to be kept in the dark."

Maggie heard the sound of people dispersing, including Thomas as he got the door, and she relaxed as she prepared to exit her hiding spot and relay the information to Marigold (after receiving Nanny's wrath, of course.)

Suddenly, a hand lifted up the tablecloth on the opposite side. Maggie jumped.

"Maggie darling," Cora scolded slightly, "I respect your wishes to hear what's happening, but next time, please don't eavesdrop. It's very unladylike." She dropped her voice lower. "And you might want to find a different hiding spot. I could see your shadow through the cloth."

* * *

Bates dipped the rag in the small bottle of shoe shine on the table, then rubbed it over the toe of one of Robert's shoes. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and William cautiously entered the room.

"Can I come in?" he asked hesitantly.

Bates nodded. "Have a seat."

William eased himself onto the stool across from his father, leaning on the table. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

"Papa, how old were you when you fought in the war?"

Bates glanced up at the question. William had never truly asked him about his time overseas, and he had never felt a reason to bring it up. "About 20 or so. Why?"

William shook his head. "Just wondering."

Bates set the shoe down and looked his son in the eyes. "William, you are too young to fight. Do you understand me?"

"But think of all the men serving their country! Half of them will be dead in a few weeks!"

"And that's what we don't want to happen to you!"

"But it's honourable-"

"William," Bates said firmly. "You are 14 years old. You do realize that if you were to enlist and something happened to you, it would just about kill your mother."

William was silent.

"You shouldn't want to go to war. Because I promise when you get there, you'll want to come back."

* * *

That night, George tossed and turned, but he couldn't find a comfortable position. It seemed as if every time he would start to doze, images of war flashed through his head. Images of Hitler, Germany...of his father. The father he never knew. Wouldn't he want George to fight for the King? He enlisted, so why shouldn't George, when he turned of age?

Then George thought of his mother. She had talked to him that night in the drawing room, after everyone else had gone to bed. She didn't want him to enlist. If he were called up, so be it. But she would never sleep at night if he were to enlist.

A soft knock sounded at his door, and a moment later, Maggie poked her head in. "Are you awake?"

George propped himself up on his elbow and nodded. "I can't sleep."

"Me neither." She came fully into the room, closing the door quietly so as not to wake the others. "Can I stay with you for a while?" she asked. "Not all night, but...just for a while..."

George moved and lifted the covers so she had room. Maggie climbed in next to him.

"You won't go to war, will you Georgie?" she asked quietly, turning to face him.

George was silent for a moment. "Well...I can't go yet."

"But when you're eighteen...you won't go will you?"

He didn't answer.

"I heard Mama talking to Papa. As they were coming upstairs. He's thinking of enlisting. I don't want him to enlist, George. Why can't the world just get along?"

George laid back on his pillows. "I don't know. Sometimes I think it's more trouble than it's worth." He sighed. "Look. Nothings happened yet. No one's been called up, no one's volunteered, so let's not think about it. Maybe Hitler will back down without much of a fight."

As the two laid back and tried to sleep, George couldn't help but think of how wrong he probably was.

* * *

AN: So, I'm trying to put some character developement in here, but it's kinda hard to find spots for it. Anyways, please review! PLEASE! I LIVE OFF REVIEWS!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

AN: Here's chapter 3! It's hard to write these in story form, yet stay in "Downton Abbey" form, so you'll have to forgive me if sometimes the writing is kind of jagged. Please review!

-downtonabbey15

* * *

Henry clasped his hands together nervously as he faced his children. "Well," he said after a few moments of silence. He stopped pacing the library. "There's not really an easy way to say this. I've decided to enlist. I'm going to London on Tuesday for my medical, and then I'll be off to Germany."

Neither child moved.

"So," Maggie began after a moment of silence. "You're going to war? To fight?"

Henry nodded.

"You're going to kill people?"

George gave her a look.

"I'm going to be killing bad people," Henry said.

Maggie was silent. After a few awkward moments, George rose from his seat.

"Well, good luck, Henry," he said, extending his hand so that his stepfather could shake it. Henry did. "I hope that at some point I can join you."

"We'd be lucky to have you, George."

George turned to his sister. "Maggie," he said quietly, prodding her.

Maggie rose from the sofa. "I'm proud of you, Papa," she said quietly.

Henry pulled both of them in for a tight hug, something very uncharacteristic of an Englishman, indeed.

* * *

Henry returned home on Tuesday night after his medical exam, in hopes of having one last normal night before he went off. Isobel and Violet both attended, and while everyone tried to make the night cheery, it was rather awkward, as everyone tried to avoid the subject of war. The next morning was filled with strained goodbyes, and after Henry left for the train station, the house dispersed, and everyone rather kept to themselves.

Spratt held the door open as George entered Violet's sitting room. "Master George, your Ladyship," he said stiffly.

Violet smiled. "Ah, you're here. I was beginning to think you didn't get my message."

"Hello, Granny."

Violet turned to Spratt as George sat down diagonal from her. "Spratt, may we have some tea, please?"

Spratt nodded and exited the room.

Violet turned back to her great-grandson. "So, how did Henry get off?"

"Fine. Mama held out alright, but she's not in the best way right now, so we're leaving her alone."

"And your sister? How is she?"

George chuckled awkwardly. "She didn't really want to talk. She took Sonny out for a ride."

Violet smiled. "And what are your plans?"

George was confused. "For what?"

"George, you turn 18 in two weeks. If you are anything like your father, which you most certainly are, I know that you will want to enlist. The question is, will you?"

George exhaled. Robert had already given him a lecture this morning, just after Henry left, and he truly wasn't in the mood for another one. "I'm not sure. Mama doesn't want me to, and neither does Grandpapa. But is it honourable? For me to just wait to be called up when volunteers will be in Germany getting killed?"

The door opened, and Spratt entered and set the tea tray down in front of them. He poured, then left.

Violet leaned closer to George and patted his hand comfortingly. "My boy, I understand your side. But you must think of your family. You are our heir. What would we do, if God forbid something should happen to you?" Seeing George's expression, she sighed. "You know everything that happened to your dear father during the war?"

George nodded. "Yes."

"What would your mother do, if that happened to you? And your sister? And Henry? How would they all feel?"

"But Henry's out, serving his country in no less danger than I'd be in. What's the difference?"

Violet couldn't answer. She straightened. "I assume I won't be able to persuade you otherwise?"

George shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no. Not you, not Mama, and Granny Isobel already tried to dissuade me after church on Sunday, so don't try her."

The Dowager sighed. "Then I rest my case. But I wouldn't give up on your mother trying to change your mind. Not just yet."

George stood and turned to leave.

"Oh, and George, please save Spratt the trouble. Tell your sister I want her to join me for luncheon tomorrow. Tell her to be here at noon sharp."

The teenager nodded. "Alright."

* * *

"You're not serious?" Marigold asked her cousin in disbelief.

Sybil looked at her indignantly. "Of course I am. My mother was a nurse, why can't I be?"

"You're mother had proper training," Marigold retorted. "Sybil, you're completely unqualified."

The 19-year-old moved from her spot against the wall to sit on Maggie's bed. "So? You don't need to be qualified as long as you can stand the sight of blood."

"What does Dr. Clarkson say?"

" _Major_ Clarkson," Sybil corrected her, "thinks it's a good idea. And so does Papa."

"But you'll have to touch people! And they'll be dirty!"

From her spot on her chair, Maggie burst out laughing. "Gosh, Marigold. Do you still deny my claim that you're germaphobic?"

"I am _not_ germaphobic. I just prefer to be clean."

"You sound like taking care of injured soldiers is a bad thing," Sybil said.

"I don't think it's a bad thing," Marigold defended. "I just don't think you should be doing it."

Sybil scoffed. "Well, thank you for _that_."

"Oh, you know what I mean."

A knock on the door made all three heads turn, and Cora opened the door ajar and peeked in. "Are you three coming?"

The girls rose from their seats and began heading down the stairs.

"But honestly," Marigold continued. "Think of what you'll have to deal with. Some of them won't have _limbs._ How will you be able to stand it? It's frightening!"

"No, it's not. They were injured serving their country, there's nothing wrong with that."

"What's wrong is the nightmares you'll have from all the trauma you'll see."

* * *

AN: So, what did you think? Like, I write it in my head, but then when I try to type it out, I screw it up. Next chapter will focus on George enlisting in the army, and William's plan to join. It'll get better, I promise! Please review!

-downtonabbey15


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

AN: So, here's chapter 4! I cannot believe I got nearly 200 more views in just a day! AAH! That is crazy! You guys are so awesome! Please review!

-downtonabbey15

* * *

"You what?"

Violet patiently restated. "I want to arrange a luncheon to introduce you to Nicolas Grey."

Maggie set down her tea on the table. "Nicolas Grey? Timothy Grey's son?"

Violet nodded. "Yes. I want you to meet him."

Maggie resisted the urge to scoff. "It's amazing how the Crown declares war, and the first thing you think of is to introduce me to a man."

"But you see, my dear, that is my point. With a war on, it's only a matter of time before all the eligible young men have gone. It's best to catch one now...that way when they get back, you'll already have them reserved."

Maggie sighed. "But Granny...I met Nicolas Grey a few years ago. He's just as rude as his father."

Violet chuckled. "Yes, but he's Marigold's age. He can still be brought round."

After a few moments of Violet's glaring, Maggie gave in. "When do you want to do it?"

"I've already spoken to Lord Merton. He says that Timothy and his wife will be in London on Friday, and Nicolas can come over on the train. He'll be here by 11, so I want you here at that time as well."

Maggie sighed. "Alright. As long as all we have to do is eat. Then I'm leaving. Have you told Mama about this?"

Violet looked away. "No, of course not. She'd have never agreed to it."

* * *

The luncheon never happened on Friday. Nicolas bowed out, claiming he had to assist his father in his departure for the war. Maggie was more than glad. That was why she and George were now sitting on his bed, a checker board between them. An awkward silence had settled over the two.

"You'll get used to it, you know," George said quietly after a while.

Maggie glanced up at him. "Used to what?"

"To me being away." When Maggie didn't say anything, he continued. "I know it'll be odd at first, but it won't be so bad. You'll see, it-"

"What if you die?" Maggie asked suddenly.

George looked taken aback. "What?"

"What if you get killed? What do you think that would do to Mama? And me?"

"Do you think my father would want me to sit in this house being waited on while other men my age are out risking their lives?"

"Your father wouldn't want you in danger!"

"How would you know? You never met him."

"But I'm not stupid. If anything happened to you, Mama wouldn't be able to get over it."

George scoffed. "Well, she'll have to get over it, because I'm enlisting whether she likes it or not."

"What if the army doesn't want you?"

Realizing that neither were going to keep playing, George stood and started putting the checkers back in their box. "Don't be ridiculous. They wouldn't turn down someone who _wanted_ to go to war."

"What about your asthma?"

"Asthma's not a reason to keep me out."

Maggie huffed in exasperation. "God, you're so bull-headed."

"No, I'm realistic. Something that you've never been."

Maggie stood. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that. Because I just know that you'll get there, and you'll see it isn't as good as it sounds. And you'll want to come back, but you won't be able to."

George was silent as she left the room.

* * *

George's 18th birthday went off without a hitch. Mrs. Patmore was able to use the remains of her soon to be ingredients to bake him a decent cake. Everyone managed to remain cheery, and Henry even managed to send him a letter of congratulations. Tables and chairs were set up on the grass during the afternoon, and Moseley and Andy served a various array of drinks and pastries. About halfway through, Mary pulled him aside.

"Come with me for a moment," she whispered, so that the rest of the family couldn't hear.

Confused, George followed her back inside the house, and upstairs into her room. She stood in front of her vanity.

"Shut the door," she told him, and he complied.

Mary clasped her hands together. "I know you're enlisting...and I know that anything I say won't make one bit of difference..."

"If you don't want-" George started.

Mary shook her head, cutting him off. "Don't. You know you won't be able to keep to it." She headed to her nightstand, taking something small out, and closing it. She came around the bed to face him. She kept the object hidden in her hands.

"I want you to take this with you," she told him, placing the object in his hands.

George turned it over. It was a small dog. "What is it?" he asked, not quite understanding what she was getting at."I gave that to your father during the war...for luck. He carried it with him always, and it kept him safe. I know it will do the same for you."

George was silent as he ran his fingers over the fabric. His father had touched this. He had held it, so very long ago...

He looked up at his mother. "T-Thank you," he said chokingly.

Mary smiled sadly at him, then headed back towards the door. "I'm going back down. Are you coming?"

George nodded. "In a moment."

Mary exited, and George's gaze returned to the dog.

He had _so little_ of his father. A few pictures here and there, his uniform, some of his old clothes. But this was special. This had been something that had mattered to him. That he had cared about.

And George would care about it, too.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the other end of the village, the small building of the makeshift registry office was crowded.

The man running the front desk took the envelope containing the carefully forged birth certificate and ID. "Name?" he said routinely to the clearly underage boy standing in front of him.

"William John Bates," the lad said stiffly. "I'd like to enlist."

* * *

AN: AAH! William's enlisting! What will happen now? And George is enlisting too! AAH! Please tell me what you thought and review! And Happy New Year, everyone!

-downtonabbey15


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

AN: Hey, guys! Sorry for such a long wait, but here's chapter 5! Please review!

downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

Tom drove George into Rippon two days later for his medical. As expected, he passed with flying colours. One week later, he strode into the dining room in full Army Private uniform, his cap in hand.

Robert stood from the table and smiled, although sadness was behind it. "My dear boy," he said, striding across the room and clasping George's hand in his own. Robert could say no more, or the tears welling up in his eyes would spill.

George looked beyond his grandfather to Sybil and Maggie, who had now risen from their seats at the table.

"What do you think?" he asked them gently.

Sybil gave him a smile. "You look very smart, George."

Maggie mimicked her cousin's solemn yet happy expression.

* * *

Luncheon was never finished. The tearful farewells started halfway through it and lasted until the family saw George off at the front of the house. Mary was a mess, and when the car had left to take George to the train station, she fled to her bedroom, and Cora followed her. That had been nearly two hours ago. Since then, Mary and Cora hadn't come down, Robert hadn't left the library, and Maggie had successfully managed to put a dent in her bedroom carpet from pacing back and forth.

By half past two, after giving up on wallowing in self pity, Maggie headed down to the servants' hall, and out the back door, where she expectedly found William sitting on the steps. He began to rise, but she waved him off, and took a seat next to him.

She sighed. "That's it," she said. "He's gone."

William met her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You didn't tell Churchill to declare war, did you?"

William chuckled lightly. "No."

Maggie smiled. Then her expression turned serious. "Please promise me you won't go."

For a second, absolute horror crossed William's eyes, for he thought she might've found out. Then he realized there was no way she could know, if she did, surely she would have told his mother already.

"Well," he stuttered. "I-I can't go yet."

"But...if you turn 18, and there's still a war...promise me you won't volunteer. I know if you get called up, you don't have a choice, but..."

"But...you don't even know if there'll still be a war in four years."

"I don't care. Promise me."

William avoided her gaze, then met it again. "Alright."

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Isobel said in exasperation. She turned to face Dr. Clarkson. "What does the York hospital say?"

The elderly doctor sighed. "They said that because the war office has requested hospitals take in soldiers, they can't afford the extra funding it would take to manage theirs and ours."

"So, that's it?" she asked. "They've left us on our own? With no proper funding, or resources? Or even means of getting resources!"

"I know it's bad. But what am I to do? If we're supposed to take in hundreds of soldiers, we need money. Or some form of income."

Isobel clasped the file folder she was holding to her chest. "Why not a fundraiser?" she suggested. "We had them during the first war. Why not again?"

Clarkson sighed. "Fundraising cannot run a hospital, Mrs. Crawley. It can help, yes, but we cannot live off of it."

"Well, just what do you suppose we do?"

The Major didn't answer.

* * *

William would never know how he had managed it. He truly wouldn't. He had gone for his medical nearly a week and a half after he registered. The army doctor in Rippon had of course inquired about his age, and when William had been reluctant to give an answer, the elderly man had laughed, and to William's surprise, he admired his enthusiasm.

Nothing more was said about his age, to which William was very surprised, and grateful. For the next two weeks, he waited anxiously for news. Anna continuously asked him why his head was suddenly in the clouds half the time, and William brushed it off. Finally, the day came that when he walked into the village, the woman running the Postal Office greeted him with a letter and a medium-sized package. Somehow, he managed to get the package home and securely hidden in the top cupboard of his wardrobe, where he knew Anna never looked, mainly because she could not reach it.

Now, he took one last look at himself in the small mirror in his room, straightening his uniform cap and jacket. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged his knapsack onto his back, grabbed his suitcase, and closing the door, stepped out into the quickly approaching night. At this time, his parents were most likely relaxing in the servants' hall while the Crawleys were about to begin their dinner. He had plenty of time to get to London before they would ever notice he was gone.

Closing the cottage door behind him, he took one last long look at Downton, then headed towards the front gate.

* * *

"William!" Anna called into the house as Bates helped her remove her coat. "We're back!"

Confused by the lack of response, Anna's brow furrowed. "William?"

"Perhaps he's gone to bed," Bates suggested, taking off his own jacket and hanging it on the coat hooks by the door.

Anna didn't brush off her husband's suggestion, but she knew it wasn't likely. After a quick glance in the parlour and the kitchen, (where there was no evidence of William having any dinner,) Anna headed up to the second floor, hoping to locate her son, and prepare for the bed that was calling her after a long day.

She knocked gently on William's door, not wanting to wake her son if he was asleep. "William?" she called softly. "Are you awake?" Receiving no answer, Anna pushed the door open. Her stomach dropped.

William's bed was made, a rare sight indeed. His closet was open, and his suitcase, along with a generous amount of his clothing, was gone. William himself was nowhere to be seen.

Anna began breathing hard. "Oh, God," she said to herself. In a moment, she knew what had happened. "John!"

* * *

Maggie confusedly unfolded the note that she had found resting on her pillow. She sat on the edge of her bed.

 _Dear Maggie,_

 _You've always told me not to bother with using your title, and since I don't know when I'll see you again, I figure I might as well honour your request. I've gone to enlist. I'm sorry. I know I promised you I wouldn't. But I can't just sit at Downton, while people are out risking their lives. You must try to understand that. I haven't left anything for my parents, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this letter. My mother will be distraught enough as it is._

 _I'll be in London until Friday, and then I'm off to God-knows-where for training. I'll have a fortnight's leave before going to the front, but I won't be back to say goodbye. I'm sorry, but I can't. You know as well as I do that my mother would try to make me stay. As I said earlier, I don't when or if I'll see you again, but if I do come back, and if my father doesn't throw me out for breaking my mother's heart, please let me see you. I know I shouldn't speak of such things, but if I am ever on leave, would you consider meeting me? I understand if you'd rather not, but just consider it. I'll try to write when I have a chance._

 _Your's truly,_

 _William J. Bates_

Maggie's heart wrenched. Now both William, George, and Henry were both gone. How many more people would she lose to war?

* * *

AN: So, what did you think? I feel like that chapter was pretty crappy, but please review! Next chapter will be in classic Downton Abbey style, with a drastic time jump! Anyway, please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

AN: Hey, guys! So, here's like, a pretty decent in length chapter for you! I was halfway through writing it, and I was like, "Man, this is gonna be so long!" I didn't make it too long, but I hope you like it! Please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

 _July 2, 1940_

 _Dear Maggie,_

 _How are you? I'm sorry it's been so long since my last letter. I can't imagine how frantic Mama must be by now, but I haven't been able to write for quite some time. I told you when I was last at home that neither side has quite been making a move...that all we've been doing is building up defenses. I'm not sure if you've heard about what's happened. I'm sure you have, but I'll tell you anyway._

 _Germany had been placid up until April, when the Nazis invaded Norway and Denmark. I suppose the French and British troops there weren't ready, because I hear they surrendered quickly. In May they went through Belgium and attacked us in France through the north. We held out in Dunkirk for a while, but eventually Churchill had us evacuated. France surrendered in June. The officers in my regiment say Hitler went to Paris, and that now the Nazi flag is hanging on the Eiffel Tower. Isn't that awful?_

 _How are things at home? Have you heard from Henry or William? I don't hear from Henry much, and it concerns me. Last I heard he was up by the Border of France, where the Germans invaded. Please tell me if you hear from him. Give my love to Mama, Granpapa, Grandmama, Grany Isobel, Granny Violet, Uncle Tom, Sybil, Aunt Edith, and Marigold. And tell Barrow I said "hello." Please write back soon, as I'd much rather prefer to hear your stories then some of the men here. They're awfully nice, but they're so scared, and they usually don't want to talk._

 _Your loving brother,_

 _George_

 _September 6, 1940_

Maggie sighed as she put the letter back in its envelope. She hadn't heard from George in over a month, and while she knew that he was most certainly busy, it worried her during the interludes that they lost contact. A soft knock sounded at her door, and she turned.

Anna entered the room with a smile, Maggie's clothes draped over her arm. "Good morning," she said.

Maggie smiled. "Good morning." She was silent as Anna laid the clothes over the rail of the bed. "How are you?"

The question took Anna by surprise, but she knew what the teenager was referring to. "I'm...I'm alright, thank you."

"Have you heard from him?"

Anna shook her head solemnly. "Not since February." In fact, Anna had barely heard from her son at all. The letter he sent her and Bates in February had been brief, apologizing for leaving, but explaining why. It had hardly been half a page.

Anna took a step back. "Your mother's rung, too. Will you be alright if I see to her?"

Maggie nodded. "Of course, go ahead."

Anna smiled and exited the room, and Maggie reluctantly got out of bed. Taking hold of the clothes Anna had laid out for her, she went behind her changing screen. When she was nearly finished, a knock came from her door, and it opened. Maggie came out from behind the screen fully dressed. Anna was standing in the room.

"Lady Mary told me to pack your things. She's catching the 10 o'clock to London, and she wants you to come."

Maggie groaned. "Today? Why couldn't she tell me yesterday?"

Anna was already sorting through the wardrobe. "Why? Do you have plans?"

"Not exactly," Maggie answered. "It's more...I'm waiting for something."

Anna looked confused. "Have I forgotten about something you ordered?"

Maggie shook her head. "No, no. It's just...something that...should be coming in the next few days." She headed for the door and opened it partially. "Shall I ask Baxter to bring up the cases?"

"If you like," the maid said as she laid the selected clothes across the bed. "And if she's finished with Her Ladyship," she added.

Maggie nodded, and exited the room. It briefly occurred to Anna that it was odd Maggie volunteer to go to the servants' quarters, but she dismissed it. It wasn't any of her business anyway.

Maggie hurried quickly down the stairs, and towards the green baize door that was hidden from the family's view. She stepped quietly down the stairs, hoping to not alert any of the servants to her presence.

She could hear Mrs. Patmore's shouting before she even reached the bottom of the staircase. She peaked around the corner of the wall that held the kitchen.

Mrs. Patmore was in her usual state, yelling at the girls in the kitchen as if their lives depended on the food they were making, (and with Mrs. Patmore, it did.) The older woman was so engrossed in her work that she didn't realize someone from the family was in the kitchen until Thomas walked by, glancing in her direction and saying, "Miss Margaret, what are you doing down here?"

The movement in the kitchen stopped, and Maggie suddenly felt terribly out of place. "I'm sorry to disturb you," she apologized to the cook.

Mrs. Patmore smiled slightly. "It's no bother, Miss. I'm sorry I didn't see you standin' there. What can I do for you?"

"Could I borrow Daisy for a moment?"

The assistant cook looked slightly surprised, but she removed her apron without question and followed the 13-year-old out of the kitchen. Maggie led her out the back door and into the courtyard. She turned to face her.

"Yes, Miss?" Daisy asked tentatively. "What can I do?" It was truthful to say she was much more comfortable around Maggie than anyone else upstairs. In her early years, the young girl had spent many of her days in the kitchen when she was dodging nanny, and she considered Daisy to be the closest thing she had to a friend.

Maggie raised her thumb to her mouth and bit her nail nervously, and action that, if done in front of her mother, Daisy knew would earn her a slap. She stepped towards the cook. "Could you do me a favour?" she asked quietly, almost as if she was afraid someone would hear.

"A favour?"

Maggie nodded. She came closer. "The boy from the telegraph office who delivers the post...he stops at your farm before the Abbey, right?"

Daisy nodded. "Yes, Miss."

"Please don't call me Miss," Maggie pleaded. Then she continued. "Could you... _intercept_ any mail for me?"

"What?" Daisy asked in stark confusion.

"I'm waiting for something. It's very important, and if anyone else in the house gets a hold of it, it could spoil everything. Can you keep it for me?"

Daisy still didn't fully understand. "Miss...I'm not sure he'd give it to me."

"Then I'll give you a signed note that says it's okay," Maggie promised. "Just please do it? And you mustn't tell anyone. Do you understand?"

Daisy nodded. "Alright. But...if you don't mind my askin'...what is it? Is it a letter?"

Maggie nodded. "And it's important that my mother doesn't find out. Alright?"

Daisy reluctantly nodded.

Guessing the reason for her hesitancy, Maggie reassured her. "It won't get you into trouble, I promise."

That was good enough for Daisy. She nodded. "Alright. I'll do it."

* * *

 _September 7, 1940_

Rosamunde was more than happy to let Mary and Maggie stay with her. In fact, she enjoyed the company, as war had made it harder to catch trains, thus slowing the throng of visitors to her home. Maggie found out there that Edith, Bertie, and Marigold were coming down from Branchester, which made Maggie more than happy, as she and Sybil had not seen their cousin since her last visit back in December for Christmas. Apparentlly, there had been rumours of Nazi-sympathizers in the area near Branchester, and Bertie and Edith felt it safer to stay at Downton for a while. Just as a precaution, Mary had told her daughter. It was nothing to worry about.

Clearly, however, it was something to worry about, because Marigold had been in such a state when she found out they would have to pass through London that Edith had considered taking her to a doctor. As Mary told Rosamunde on the evening they arrived, (when she didn't know Maggie was listening through the convenient air grate in her room,) Marigold had been terrified that there would be Nazis in London, and it had taken Edith hours to calm her daughter down.

"She can't think that," Rosamunde said, taking a sip of her tea.

"Well, she does," Mary said. "But Edith asked if Margaret and I could drive back with them. She thinks that being with family might help Marigold calm down before they reach Downton."

"What time does their train get in?"

"Three, I think."

And that was the precise time they were standing on the station platform the next day. In fact, it was nearly half past, and Rosamunde was getting considerably annoyed.

"Where in Heaven's name could it be?" Mary asked, craning her neck to see past the mob of people around them to the tracks, where there was no sign of the locomotive.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Rosamunde said. "But they'd better not keep up with this much longer, or dinner will get cold."

Suddenly, the station master came to the front of the group of waiting civilians. "Ladies and gentleman, can I have your attention, please?" he asked.

The crowed silenced, and he continued.

"I'm very sorry, but the train's been delayed. If you'll all-"

The man was cut off as a shrill siren split the air, drowning out all other noises. Its pitch fluctuated between high and low, and church bells began to toll.

"Oh, good Lord," Rosamunde muttered in annoyance.

Maggie's eyes immediately began searching the sky. She had heard the air raid siren plenty of times before, but it was so _close._ And Maggie didn't like that feeling.

"Don't worry, dear," her aunt reassured her. "It's just a drill. It's always a drill." She turned the group around and began heading towards the house.

"Shouldn't we be going to the metro?" Mary asked, looking back in the direction of the now lines of people hurrying down the stairs to the below ground system.

"Darling, it's so horribly cramped," Rosamunde said. "And just think of the diseases one could contract. We'll stay in the kitchens. It will be perfectly safe."

Mary wasn't so sure. The group of women headed down the street, at a pace faster than leisurely, but not nearly as fast as they should have been going. It wasn't until a plane roared overhead that they stopped.

"Was that one of ours?" Mary asked in alarm. She squinted her eyes against the sun.

Rosamunde nodded. "Yes, I think so." Then her face lost all its color. "However...I'm not sure about _that._ "

Submerging out of the clouds was a terrifying sight. Like a flock of birds, a tight formation of black planes flew lower and lower over the city. And though it was hardly visible, it was unmistakable. An emblem was painted on the tail of the plane.

And it was a swastika.

"Oh, God," Mary whispered. "Oh, God!"

She had barely gotten the words out when the first bomb hit. It was far enough away so that it wouldn't knock them off their feet, but it shook the ground and buildings surrounding them.

Rosamunde took a glance back. The house wasn't that far. Maybe another block or two away. They could easily make it if they ran. She turned to her nieces.

"Come along! Run!" The three women took off at a speed highly unusual for them. As they ran, Maggie took a glance back. The sky was filled with Nazi planes. And smoke. It was official.

The London Blitz had begun.

* * *

AN: So, what did you think? I'm sorry if I start using the term "Nazis" too much, but it's inaccurate to say "The Germans" because not all Germans were Nazis. So, forgive me if it gets too redundant. Just trying to not insult people. Anyway, please review! You guys have no idea how much I live off of reviews! Please tell me your thoughts!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

AN: Hey, everyone! Here's chapter 7! I hope you enjoy it! And please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

If Mary had to give the Nazis any credit at all, it would be that they were _very_ persistent. She, Maggie, and Rosamunde made it to the house in record time, and hurried to the kitchen to huddle with Meid and Rosamunde's maid, Ross. For the next several hours and into the evening, the house shook as hundreds upon hundreds of bombs were dropped on London. And during the night, after the all clear had sounded, another wave of planes bombarded the city. By morning, when officials were confident that the Germans wouldn't be returning, another all clear siren rang out, and people began coming tentatively out of their homes and shelters. It was then that they saw the true damage.

London had been _destroyed._ Debris covered the streets. Some parts of buildings still stood. Others were gone completely; nothing more than a few bricks or planks darkened by black soot in a crater-sized hole in the ground. Many buildings were ablaze with flames, and the fire brigades struggled to put them out. Everywhere, army personel led people away from collapsed buildings and ruined homes.

Tom was stunned silent when he pulled the car in front of Rosamunde's house. It hadn't taken long for news of the bombing to reach Downton. Indeed, they had heard the explosions, (though the distance between London and the Abbey made them faint,) and knew something was amiss. However, the papers were full of it this morning, and it had caused a frantic Cora to try to desperately reach her daughter, granddaughter, and sister-in-law. When no answer had come through the telephone, Tom had immediately volunteered to drive the near 70-mile trip to London to bring them back. He made it there in an hour and a half, (a stunning time for a car,) and had had a heck of a time getting through the masses of people and debris on the roads. It had taken much longer than he liked to reach Eaton Square.

Thankfully, most of the homes on Eaton Square had been remarkably lucky; while a few had been damaged from the blast wave of some of the bombs, most still stood, untouched by the devastation currently racking the city.

Tom climbed the stairs in two long strides and gave a tug on the bell. The door was hastily opened by Meid.

"Meid," Tom said anxiously as the butler took his coat. "Are they alright?"

"Yes, sir," the butler answered. "They're in the drawing room."

Tom didn't need to be shown in. He was across the hall and throwing open the door within seconds.

Rosamunde had been anxiously pacing the room behind the settee, her hand across her chest. Maggie was curled up on the window seat, peaking through the now drawn drapes. Mary stood from the armchair she was sitting in as Tom rushed in.

"Are you all alright?" he asked, hurrying to her and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

She nodded. "We're fine."

Tom shook his head. "God, your mother's a mess. And your father's beside himself."

"It didn't reach home, did it?"

Again, the Irishman shook his head. "No. But we could hear it." He tried to ignore the flashbacks of the previous night, and Lady Grantham's near hysteria that morning. "I've come to collect you."

Mary nodded. "Margaret," she said, turning to face her daughter. "Go upstairs and gather your things. And tell Anna we're leaving."

Maggie quietly obeyed, exiting the room with a nod and without a sound.

"Is she alright?" Tom asked, after she was out of earshot.

"She's shaken up," Mary answered. "We all are." She gave her brother-in-law a solemn smile and followed after her daughter.

After a moment, Tom turned to Rosamunde. "Lord Grantham wants you to come back to Downton with us. He thinks it would be safe if you stayed there for a while."

Rosamunde took a shaky breath. "I daresay he's right."

* * *

When Tom pulled the car up to the front doors of Downton, the last person Mary expected to see hurrying towards them was Edith. Bertie was standing in the doorway.

"Are you alright?" Edith asked her sister worriedly, embracing her after she exited the car.

"How did you get here?" Mary asked in confusion.

"We missed the train," Edith explained. Bertie booked us a later one. We tried to call Aunt Rosamunde, but no one answered. When we heard about London, the train stopped in Thirsk. Papa sent Stark up with the car this morning. But are you all alright?"

Mary sighed. "We're fine. Terribly shaken up, but we're fine. Where's Marigold?"

"She's inside with Sybil."

"I daresay it's a good thing she wasn't in London. I doubt it would have done her any good."

* * *

Sybil turned in her chair as her cousin entered. "Close the door," she told her in an icy tone.

Maggie obeyed, startled by the tone in Sybil's voice.

Sybil nodded towards her bed. "Sit down."

Maggie sat gingerly, averting her eyes from her cousin's.

"How are you?" the 20-year-old asked.

The teen shrugged. "Alright."

For a moment, Sybil was silent. Then she removed something from the drawer of her vanity. "Really? Because I'm not."

Maggie looked at her strangely.

"I'd like to know why you've been exchanging letters with the 15-year-old son of your maid."

Maggie went white. "How did you know?"

"The envelope had a return address on it. Daisy saw the name, and didn't know what to do, so she gave it to me."

"That little-"

"Don't be angry," Sybil snapped. "You should be thankful she gave it to me and not Granny." She paused. "I read it."

Maggie's head snapped up from where she was looking away. "I beg your pardon? You had no right!"

"I had every right," Sybil countered. "Maggie, you're getting yourself into a mess of hot water, and I'm just trying to pull you out before it's too late."

"There's nothing wrong with it."

Sybil stood from her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. "He said he loves you."

Maggie demeanor switched from cross to soft like a light. "What?"

"He said he loves you, and he said it in response to you saying it first! Maggie, what in God's name do you think you're doing?!"

"I haven't done anything wrong!" Maggie stood. "Your father was the chauffer when he married your mother. What was the problem with that?"

"You know perfectly well it was a huge problem! You can't possibly think this will be any better!"

Maggie looked more hurt then angry. "So, you're against me?"

Sybil softened. "I'm not against you. You know that I wouldn't personally have a problem with it. But what will your mother say? And Grandpapa and Granny? And your father?"

Maggie looked away and remained silent.

Sybil sat down on her bed so that she was facing her. "I want you to stop writing him."

"Sybbie, he's at the front! He has no one to talk to! What do you want me to do? Ignore him? What if something happens?"

The 20-year-old felt her guilt tug at her heartstrings. After a few moments of silence, she sighed. "Do Anna or Bates know?"

Maggie shook her head. "He swore me not to tell them."

"How long've you been doing this?"

"Since he left for the war."

Sybil scoffed in disbelief. "That was almost a year ago! How on earth did you keep it a secret all this time?"

The teenager was hesitant. "Well...you know how about once a week, I'm late for breakfast?" she said.

Sybil nodded.

"William times his letters. Usually, he'll send them on a Tuesday, and they'll get here by Thursday. I wake up early, and I go down to the village and intercept the post." Seeing her cousin's confusion, she elaborated. "If Barrow gave it to Anna to give to me, I know she'd recognize the handwriting. And she'd never forgive me if she knew her son was writing to me instead of her."

Sybil shook her head, allowing the information to sink in. After a moment, she held the letter out to Maggie. "When this blows up in your face, because I know it will, don't say I didn't warn you."

Maggie took the letter. "I won't. But you won't say anything?"

The older girl sighed. "For now, no. I won't. It's your life. You do what you want with it. But I'm warning you now."

Maggie nodded, and once Sybil had finished speaking, she hurriedly exited the room.

As soon as the door closed, Sybil ran a hand across her face and sighed in exasperation. The situation sounded like a ticking bomb to her.

* * *

AN: What did you think? I don't want to space the story out too much, but at the same time, I can't really establish my main plot ideas because they would be historically inaccurate because none of them could have occurred in 1940. But...do you guys even care about historical accuracy? (I'm a World War II nut, so I want to try to be as accurate as possible, but if you guys don't care, then I won't worry so much about it.) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I thought it was kinda crappy, and I'm trying not to rush the time changes, but I promise you guys wouldn't want to see me try to write about the time in between. It would probably bore you to death. Okay, I'm just rambling now. Please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

AN: Hello, everyone! Here's chapter 8! So sorry about the long wait on this one! My life's been pretty hectic. And just a quick note to Guest on their review: I know that Yorkshire is a large distance from London. I'm basing the story on Highclere Castle's actual distance from London, which is about 70 miles. (Idk how many kilometres that is. I'm American. We can't handle the metric system, haha.) But anyway, thank you for pointing it out. But we're just going to imagine all the geography works out, because if the distance between "Downton" and London was actually used, my story would run into some problems later on. But oh, well. I never cared much for geography anyway. I just care the historical side is accurate. But thank you for caring enough to point it out. :) I hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Please review! :)

* * *

Maggie had always been religious. In a house like Downton and with a family like hers, it was hard not to be. But now she was purely convinced that God must have some grudge against her. Because how on _earth_ could God be so cruel and unforgiving as to make George and William go on leave _during the same week?_ George, who she absolutely _had_ to see because it had been nearly _nine months_ since she had last laid eyes on him, and poor William, who she needed to keep hidden _in an empty cottage on the estate!_ How in God's name was she supposed to stay at the house and bring food to William at the same time?!

Maggie groaned internally. "What class will you be in?" she asked William through the telephone.

"Third, probably," William answered. "I'm not sure I can afford anything else."

"Alright, that's good," Maggie said. She took a deep breath slowly. "Okay, Mama and I will be at the station tomorrow morning to see George. I'll try to get us out fast, but if I can't, don't get off until the last minute. And try to stay out of sight until we leave. Will you be okay to walk back yourself?"

William nodded, even though Maggie couldn't see him. The action caused the rain currently drenching London to run into his eyes. "I'm not sure I have a choice, but I'll be fine."

"I must stay, at least when George first gets there. But I'll try to slip away after tea. Will you be alright until then?"

"I'll be fine."

Maggie nodded. "Alright. See you then."

William uttered a quick goodbye, and both telephones were quickly put down.

"Who was that?"

The voice made Maggie jump as she spun around, coming face to face with Cora.

"Oh, n-nobody," she stuttered. "Just an old friend...from school." She began to head towards the stairs, and Cora followed her out of the hall.

"You've made plans?" Cora asked her hopefully.

Maggie nodded.

"Do I know her?" her grandmother asked.

Maggie shook her head and began to ascend the stairs, while Cora remained at the bottom. "No, I don't think so."

"What are you two going to do?"

"We thought we'd go riding sometime. But she has to ask her mother."

"Well, I look forward to meeting her." With that, Cora gave her a smile and headed off towards the library, leaving Maggie on the stairs.

The 14-year-old sank down onto the step with a shaky breath. How on earth had she managed to pull _that_ off?

* * *

Mary turned as Cora entered the library from her seat at the desk. She gave her a smile, then went back to the stack of papers she was sorting through.

Cora took a cup of tea poured by Andrew, then approached her daughter. "I saw Margaret just now."

"Where was she? I need to talk to her about something."

"She was heading upstairs. It's nothing bad, I hope?"

Mary shook her head.

Cora continued. "She was getting off the phone with a friend from school."

Mary nearly scoffed. "Margaret doesn't have any friends."

Cora took a seat on one of the sofas. "She said they were going riding sometime. Did you know about it?"

"No," Mary said, preoccupied.

Cora smiled as the door opened, and Robert entered. He gave her a nod.

"What's your day looking like?"

"I've got a meeting with Dr. Clarkson at 3:00. Apparently there's problems with the York hospital. What about you?"

Robert accepted his own cup of tea. "Absolutely nothing," he answered with a hint of bitterness, taking a sip.

"Robert-" Cora began.

"Have you heard from George?" Robert asked his daughter, trying to brush off his wife's concerns.

Mary sighed and stood from her seat. "Not today. But his telegram yesterday said his train will be here at noon. Margaret and I are taking the car down to meet him. Are Granny and Isobel both coming up for dinner?"

Robert nodded. "They're coming together at eight."

Mary gave a brief nod, then she glanced at her parents. "I'll leave you to it. I've got to head down to the village."

* * *

"You can't be serious," Maggie said in disbelief.

Mary sighed as Stevens turned the car down the village's dirt road. "Of course I'm serious."

Maggie sat forward. "Mama, I can't go to the village school! I don't even know anyone there!"

Stevens eased the car to a stop in front of the train station, and quickly climbed out to open the door for Mary, who remained seated.

"Margaret, London is being bombed! Did you really think I would send you there? And with your health, no less!" She exited the car with Stevens' hand, and Maggie did the same.

"But I won't have any friends!"

"You hardly have any friends at Clarke." This was, unfortunately, true. Margaret had begun attending the Clarke School for girls at age 10, when her lifelong governess, Fraulein Ilsa, had regretfully left Downton to go back to Liverpool to care for her aging mother. The school had not been at all kind to Margaret.

"And it doesn't matter. I've arranged it all with Mr. Dawes. You'll be in Mr. Moseley's class."

"Mama-"

Mary stopped. "You like Mr. Moseley! And it's only for a while, I promise."

Maggie looked ready to protest.

"Stop it," Mary ordered, suddenly harsh. "This isn't about you. When George arrives, I expect you to smile. You don't know what he's seen."

"And you do?" The smart remark slipped before Maggie had a chance to stop herself.

The blood immediately rushed to Mary's face. "I beg your pardon? I know much more about it then you."

Maggie cast obedience aside. "Oh, yes, playing nursemaid to a bunch of injured soldiers twenty years ago makes you an expert."

The next thing Maggie knew her head was snapped sideways as Mary's hand connected with her cheek. The sting turned to a sharp pain that spread across the left side of her face as she cradled her cheek in her hand.

"Get back in the car," Mary ordered.

"But what about-"

"You had the chance to greet George when he first arrived. You can't behave in public, so you'll wait in the car." With that, she headed for the platform, leaving Maggie seething.

From inside the car, she watched as the train stopped, and a few soldiers disembarked. She could immediately pick out her brother. George didn't look different. Maybe a little older, as was expected. But he seemed less...George. He smiled smaller, hugged his mother looser, and no longer had the childish gleam about him.

As Maggie watched the interaction between him and their mother, the train whistle blew, and towards the far end of the train, she caught sight of a young soldier quickly hopping off the step of the car. He tugged his cap lower over his face, hefted his bag on his shoulder, and disappeared around the corner of the building. Maggie sucked in a breath. _That_ was William. Now all she had to do was keep him undetected for a week.

* * *

George would never be able to understand how his family managed to keep a conversation going as long as they did. They arrived home at about half past 12, and none of the family left the library until the dressing gong was rung. George loved his family, and he loved the welcome home they had given him. But he desperately needed a chance to catch his breath.

After changing, he headed down the hall to his sister's bedroom, and knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in," she called from inside.

George entered and quietly closed the door behind him.

"I thought I'd take the chance to talk to you...before Granny and everyone corner me at dinner," he said, laughing slightly and sitting at the foot of the bed.

Maggie smiled and rose from her vanity seat, and took the spot next to him. "How are you?" she asked.

George shrugged. "I'm alright," he said quietly. After a moment, he eyed her. "Why did Mama hit you?"

Maggie turned suddenly. "What?"

"She slapped you, didn't she?" He craned his neck so he could get a better view of her cheek. "I can see the mark."

"Oh, God," Maggie groaned. "It's that clear?"

George nodded.

"Damn," Maggie muttered. She hurried to the mirror and peered closely at her face.

"Don't swear," George told her. "It's not nice."

"You swear."

"Only when I want to."

Maggie chuckled. "How is that any better?"

George returned the laugh. Then he grew somber. "What did you say to her?"

Maggie rolled her eyes. "We had a row, that's all."

"What about?"

"You."

"Me?"

Giving up on her appearance, Maggie came back to the bed and sat. "Well, it started about you. Then I think it just fed off how much she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you, Maggie."

Maggie chuckled. "Oh, no, I think she does."

George sighed and leaned against the bedpost. "You mustn't be so hard on her, Margaret."

"She's hard on me."

"It doesn't matter! You're her daughter. She _can_ be hard on you. Not the other way around." Seeing his sister's look, he continued. "You don't think she's as scared or frustrated as you. You have to give her a rest."

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. "She doesn't care about me. Why should I care about her?"

"That's not true."

"It is and you know it."

Maggie was about to say more, but she caught herself, and George gave her a questioning look. She wasn't about to go into the rest. She made for the door. "I'm going down. Are you coming?"

After a moment, George reluctantly followed.

* * *

Dinner dragged on for an undeterminable amount of time for Margaret. Before the war, she only dined downstairs once or twice a week, and although she didn't like being treated like a child, she was glad that she was spared from having to listen to the adults' conversations. The family had entered the dining room at half past eight, and didn't leave until nearly two hours later. After going through, another hour was spent in the drawing room, until Margaret was able to sneak away at the same time as her mother.

After changing into her nightgown, (with a pair of slacks and a white shirt underneath,) she sat for over half an hour inside her bedroom door, waiting until the sound of laidies' maids and valets working ceased. When she was sure the coast was clear, she tossed off her nightgown and slipped into the dark hallway. She snuck towards the staircase, then padded quickly down to the ground floor. _Poor William,_ she thought as she crossed to the green baize servants' door. _He must be wondering what happened to me._

Creeping down the stairs, she hurried down into the kitchen. She flicked on the light, and headed across the room, to the store cupboard. She twisted the handle, but to her dismay, the wooden door was locked tight.

"Damn," she swore softly, giving the door one last shake. But to no avail. It wouldn't budge.

Maggie slammed her hands on the counter in frustration, looking around the room. There was nothing in the outer kitchen that William could eat, at least not directly. She _had_ to get in the store cupboard. But how? Mrs. Hughes's keys were undoubtedly with her, safely in her cottage. And Margaret could hardly break into their house...

Then it hit her. Quickly, she pulled open several of the counter drawers until she found the collection of old butter knives. She came back to the door. The lock was old, and the keyhole large. It might just work.

It took several tries of jimmying the knife blade in the lock, but finally, something snapped, and the lock gave way. Maggie immediately tossed it aside and entered the dimly lit cupboard.

She didn't grab much. Indeed, she couldn't carry a large load of food. But she took enough for William to last at least until midday tomorrow. ( _Or that would be today_ , she thought, glancing at the wall clock's display.) Tying it up in a cloth and securing it with a string, she hurried back upstairs, not bothering with the light.

By the time she reached the hall, the sound had hit her ears. Rain was pounding the roof of the abbey and the ground outside, and strong winds could be heard as they whistled across the estate. Maggie quickly grabbed her coat and opened the door, and was met with a slap of wet and cold.

"Bloody..." her curse trailed off with the wind as it blew her hair into her face. She closed the door behind her and quickly buttoned up her coat. She had hoped to walk to William. It was a long walk, but if dinner had gone by faster and she had avoided the confrontation with the lock, she might have been able to make it back to the house in ample time. But not at this time, and certainly not in this weather. Why, it was already past midnight, and the ground was oozing with mud. It would take her forever. Margaret clenched her teeth in frustration.

She hadn't wanted to ride. Getting into the stable and saddling Sonny would make too much noise, and would risk waking Lynch. And he would, in turn, question her, and undoubtedly see past any lie she tried and tell her grandfather. Or worse, her mother. But now she had no choice.

Ducking her head, she ran as fast as she could towards the stables, slipping on the mud and drenching her socks in cold puddles. By the time she reached the doors, her hair was dripping and stuck to her face, and her coat would indubitably have difficulty recovering.

She opened the doors slowly, hoping to avoid as much noise as possible. She slowly approached Sonny's stall and the horse snorted softly at seeing her.

"Hey," Maggie said softly, rubbing her hand over the horse's nose in an effort to keep her quiet. She quietly opened the stall door and slipped inside. Sonny's bridle and saddle hung on the wall behind her, and Maggie easily got the bridle and reins on the thoroughbred. But when she lifted the saddle, the stirrups clinked. No matter which way Margaret tried to shift the saddle, it made noise. Suddenly, rustling could be heard in the room above the stable, and Maggie froze in fright.

 _Oh, Lord,_ she thought to herself. _Please don't let Lynch find me. Please._

Carefully, quietly, she set the saddle back on its bar, and turned back to her horse. She grabbed Sonny's reins.

"Come on, girl," she said softly, leading her out of the stall. She took a deep breath.

"Well, Sonny, we've done this before. Once."

It took a bit of effort, (she hadn't ridden bareback much,) but Maggie was able to mount the large horse. She gripped the reins in the most relaxed way she could.

"Alright, girl. Don't fail me now."

Then she kicked Sonny, and the horse galloped off into the night.

Maggie knew the grounds well. She rode almost everyday, and she had been going on hunts with her mother and grandfather since she was a child. Mary had taught her to ride at a young age, and Margaret had picked up the skill with ease.

Now, though, as she reined Sonny to a stop, she was uncertain of her location. The cottage William was in was relatively new. It had been built, along with a fair number of others, a handful of years back. Robert had built them at the edge of the estate, in case people wanted to live away from the house but on the grounds none the less. The old lady, a Mrs. Swindon, she thought, though she wasn't sure, had moved out a few months earlier to go live with a sister or someone. But the cottage was still fully furnished. Maggie had been going in the right direction, she was sure of it. Yet, she couldn't see anything.

Then, she saw it. A light. It was dim, and barely visible in the storm, but she _knew._ It had to be the cottage. She squinted, and as her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the vague outline of the brick building, the vines covering the front of it unmistakeable. She was about to kick Sonny into a gallop when the thunder cracked.

Maggie was a good rider. Indeed, she had won many pence off some of the unsuspecting village boys who thought they could beat her in a race. But she was unprepared when Sonny reared in right, her neigh echoing.

Maggie screamed, and lightening illuminated the sky as she was thrown from the animal's back, and Sonny galloped off into the night.

* * *

AN: Sorry if that was too long for you guys. But please tell me what you think! And please review! :)

-downtonabbey15


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

George turned over in his bed and sighed. He had hoped that the long train ride, coupled with the impressive amount of time he had spent with his family, would ensure that sleep came easy that night. Now though, after laying in bed for a good half an hour, he was still wide awake. It was clear sleep had decided to be allusive at the moment.

Thoughts swirled around George's head, and it was hard to keep track of them all. Margaret's behaviour that evening troubled him. She had been unusually preoccupied during dinner, and while everyone conversed in the drawing room, her gaze continuously flickered to the windows. And she had retreated to her room before George could question her.

Letting out another deep exhale, George sat up and pushed away the covers of the bed. He knew it was late, and Margaret was most likely asleep, but maybe she wasn't. It was a regular occurrence, between George and Maggie, to visit each others' rooms in the middle of the night. Margaret had sought George's comfort during her early years, and as the two grew older, they frequently had private talks in the wee hours of the morning. George had missed that.

Slipping on his dressing gown, he padded quietly down the halls, stopping at his sister's door.

"Mags," he called quietly, knocking softly.

No answer. He pushed the door open quietly and stopped.

Maggie's covers were thrown haphazardly back, and her nightgown was strewn across the bed. Margaret herself was nowhere to be found. George glared at the bed and took one look at the raging storm outside.

"Damn you, Margaret," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

Maggie wasn't sure how much time had passed between when she fell from Sonny and when she regained awareness, or even if she had been knocked unconscious at all. All she knew was that suddenly everything came rushing back to her, and she quickly sat up, ignoring the stabbing pain in her forehead.

"Sonny!" she yelled into the darkness, but of course, the horse didn't answer.

Maggie didn't know if Sonny was close, or even how much time had passed since she'd been thrown. All she knew was that the storm had let up considerably, and her first priority was to get to William, then back to the house. The entire property was fenced in. Sonny would be fine until morning.

Slowly rising to her feet, she winced at the sharp pain in her head, and for a moment the world spun. Once it had passed, she headed in the direction of the cottage, which she could see wasn't far now.

Reaching the porch, she briefly knocked her shoes against the step to clear them from mud, then pushed her way inside.

The parlour of the room was dimly lit with an oil lamp, but Maggie could see. William was sprawled across the arm chair towards the far wall, half asleep. His knapsack was on the floor at his side, and he was in nothing but a loose white t-shirt and dark slacks. He jumped to his feet when she came in.

"William, I'm so sorry," Maggie cried as the door slammed closed behind her. "I couldn't get away, and...oh, God, everything went _wrong._ "

"What happened to you?" William asked in alarm, coming forward and taking in her appearance. Maggie's clothes and coat were soaked through and nearly covered in mud. Her hair was dripping and was plastered to her face.

"Sonny threw me," Maggie explained, setting the food down on the wooden table in the kitchen, which was adjacent to the parlour. "But I'm fine, really."

"No, you're not, Margaret, you're bleeding!" William eyed a long cut that stretched along Maggie's hairline. It was oozing blood.

The 14-year-old shook her head. "It's fine." She unwrapped the food she had brought. "Now...this should last you at least until noon. I'll try to bring you food again tonight."

"Will you come before that?" William asked her.

Maggie looked slightly taken aback. Good God, if her mother knew what she was doing she would be whipped...

"I'll try to sneak away after luncheon. But I won't be able to get to the kitchen until Mrs. Patmore's out, so I'll be back at night."

William nodded. For a moment, both were silent.

"I've missed you," William eventually said quietly, gazing at her.

Maggie felt the blood rise to her face. "I've missed you, too. I-" She never got the words out.

William grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, kissing her full on. For a while, they both stayed like that, savouring it. Eventually, they pulled apart.

"I'm sorry," William said quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Maggie shook her head. "No...no, don't be." She took a step back towards the door. "I'll see you later, then." And with that, she hurriedly stepped back out into the rain, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against it. If anyone found out about this...God, she would never see the light of day again...

The rain had let up considerably, and Maggie was able to make it to the house in good time. She managed to stay silent as she entered through the servants' door, but as she turned to shut the door, a voice behind her made her jump.

"Where in the _bloody hell_ have you been?"

Maggie turned quickly. George was standing cross armed at the other end of the hallway, his eyes boring into her.

And he was absolutely seething.

* * *

Maggie slowly shut the door, leaving the two in silence.

"Where did you go?" George demanded again.

Maggie came slightly forward. "I...I went out...for a ride."

George scoffed. "Margaret, if you expect me to believe that you fancied a ride in the middle of a storm in almost knee deep mud, then you might actually be insane."

Maggie took another step forward, and the kitchen light caught her face.

George's expression immediately dissolved from angered to concerned. " _Good God,_ what _happened_ to you?!" he exclaimed, coming towards her.

Maggie took a small step backwards, nearer to the wall. "Sonny threw me," she answered shakily. "But I'm fine, honestly."

George reached her in two strides and wasted know time in dragging her into the kitchen and into better light. He peered at the cut, pulling back her hair as he did so. Maggie sucked in a sharp breath.

"Sorry. God, Maggie, what did you hit when you went down?" The accusatory tone in George's voice had dissipated considerably, and was replaced by the gentler sound Maggie was used to.

She shrugged. "I don't know. You can't even see the trail."

George took a deep breath and motioned for her to sit up on the counter. It took a good deal of searching, but he eventually located the cabinet with the washrags, and he quickly wet one and went back to his sister. He gently dabbed at the cut. "Where's Sonny?"

"He spooked. He was gone when I came to."

George stopped stock still and his eyes widened. "You were knocked out?!"

"Maybe, I'm not sure." Seeing the look on her brother's face, Maggie grew defensive. "I'm not, George, honestly! He threw me, and the next thing I knew I was getting up from the ground and Sonny was gone."

"Good God, Maggie."

For a few minutes, both children were silent. After George finished doing his best to clean the laceration, he tossed the rag aside, and stood directly in front of his sister.

"Now," he said after a few moments. "Are you ready to tell me where you were?"

"George, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll tell Mama!"

George stopped. "Maggie, I'll only tell Mama if she _needs_ to know about it. Is it bad?"

Maggie tried to avoid his gaze. "That depends on how you look at it. Sybbie thinks it is."

"Sybbie knows?"

"...Well...She knows part of it."

George took a deep breath. "Then why don't you tell me about the part that she doesn't know."

* * *

Maggie and George remained in the servants' hall for another hour. She told her brother all about William; how she had known of his whereabouts from the moment he had run away from Downton, how she had exchanged letters with him, how she had guiltily kept the secret from Anna and Bates. She left out how smitten she was with him. George didn't quite need to know that.

He was upset, of course. Less concerned with how it reflected on her, and more disturbed with the fact that she kept a mother from her only child. Maggie stressed how in his first letters, he had _begged_ her not to...he knew if Anna learned of his location, she would do everything in her power to expose his true age to the War Office and get him sent back.

It had taken Maggie a good deal of begging. An extreme amount, actually, before George reluctantly agreed not to tell their mother. After that, George retired for the night, and Maggie returned to her bedroom, beginning the slow and painful process of stripping off her near ruined garments and finding some way to conceal them from Anna. It took her over two hours to clean herself off, and she barely put her clothes in to soak before she heard the servants begin their day.

* * *

"Miss?"

Anna's soft voice roused her from blissful sleep.

"Miss, you have to get up now, otherwise your family will be wondering where you are."

Despite that every inch of Maggie's body was screaming for her to refuse Anna and return to the deep recesses of her mind, she knew that if she didn't appear after a considerable amount of time, her family would question it, and that would be risky. Even one interrogation from their mother might make George cave. It was best that Maggie be there, that way there was no reason for questions to be asked.

The teenager reluctantly opened her eyes, squinting as Anna yanked the curtains open.

"I've got a question for you," Anna said, tying them back and turning to face her.

"What?" Maggie asked, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes to rub the sleep away.

"Mr. Lynch came to see Mr. Barrow early this morning. He says he found Sonny outside of the stables. He doesn't know how she got out, but her bridle was on." Anna gave Maggie a knowing, motherly look. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Maggie shook her head. "No," she said, hoping she looked more convincing than she sounded.

Anna gave her a slight smile. "Alright," she said, even though she wasn't entirely persuaded.

Maggie sat up quickly, and visibly paled when the room tilted. _Damn,_ she thought to herself. _Maybe I really did get knocked out last night._

Anna looked concerned. "Are you alright?"

Maggie forced a smile. "Of course. I was just up late last night."

Anna looked as though she was about to take it further, but a soft knock sounded on the door.

"Anna?" came Baxter's tentative voice from outside the door. "I'm sorry, but Lady Mary just rung. I came to let you know."

"Thank you, Miss Baxter," Anna called through the door. She turned back to Maggie. "Will you be alright if I go tend to Lady Mary?"

Maggie nodded, and Anna quickly exited the room, closing the door behind her. The 14-year-old wasn't disappointed. She knew that if Anna did her hair, she would discover the cut, and that was _not_ something she could easily explain. She reluctantly pushed back the covers and rose.

* * *

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Edith's voice startled Bertie out of his thoughts as she came towards him. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the outside stones benches, concealed by the garden's hedges. A book was poised in his hands.

He stood as his wife approached and smiled. "Hello my darling," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

They sat down together.

"For a while I thought you were avoiding me," Edith teased with a smile.

Bertie chuckled. "I could never avoid you." He turned back to face the estate's view. "I just came out here to think."

Seeing her husband's expression, Edith ran a hand comfortingly over his arm. "Bertie...you're older...it'll be ages before you're called up. And there's hardly any actual fighting...it's mostly the air force."

Bertie pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know, I just...I feel like such a coward, not volunteering, but...I don't want to go back." He wasn't sure if it was the chilly October breeze or the memories of his times in the trenches that sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, Edith was silent as Bertie avoided her gaze by studying the land stretching before them.

She took his hand. "Well, on a happier note, I have something to tell you."

Bertie turned to her with a smile. "Oh?" He said. "Will I be pleased?"

"I guarantee it."

Bertie chuckled. "Well then. Don't keep me in such suspense. Tell me."

Edith's smile beamed, and when she spoke, her voice was shaking with happiness. "Bertie...I'm pregnant."

* * *

AN: Okay, so I know that chapter could have been better. I was hoping to make it longer, but I didn't want to bunch up all the other stuff I was thinking about writing in one super long chapter. Please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

AN: Hello, everybody! I want to thank you all so much for your awesome response to this story so far, as I honestly didn't think it would get anywhere. I would also like to thank **Edward Carson** for helping with historical details and for being so supportive! This chapter may be a bit boring; there was a lot more I wanted to put in it, but I didn't want to drag it out. I promise the next one will be much more... _tense_. That's all I'm going to say. So, without further ado, I give you Chapter 10!

-downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

Bertie froze. For a moment, it seemed almost impossible for the information to sink in. He was sure the world had stopped.

Eventually, his voice began working again.

"Pregnant..."

Edith nearly laughed at her husband's reaction. "Yes, Bertie. I'm pregnant."

He still couldn't fathom it. "But...We've tried and tried...and-"

"And we've finally succeeded," Edith finished for him, brushing his cheeks with her hands. "Oh, darling...I've gone to see Dr. Clarkson..." She let the silence build for a moment, then smiled.

"Bertie...we're having twins."

* * *

Maggie had never stayed up all night; save for one evening, before the war, when she, George, and William had spent hours searching the upstairs for ghosts, (but that's another story,) and she had absolutely no idea how anyone before her had possibly managed to do it. She missed breakfast, which was enough to make her mother suspicious, and had barely made it through luncheon. She and George were now seated in the servants' hall, occupying chairs against the wall to stay out of the way. They had only come down to get a moment's respite from the chaos of upstairs, but now their stay was going on nearly half an hour. George knew that if they didn't go back up soon, unwanted questions would be asked.

George turned to his sister. "You can skip dinner if you want. I'll cover for you."

Maggie closed her eyes for a moment and leaned her head back against the wall. She rubbed her eyes. "No. I've got to get to William."

George shrugged. "So skip and sneak out during it. The weather's fine. You could be back before we even go through. No one will know."

Maggie considered it, then stopped. "How do I get the food? If I sneak out during dinner, Mrs. Patmore will be in the kitchen working on the servants' food."

George thought for a minute. "Tell you what. In a minute I'll go in to Mrs. Patmore. I'll tell her that you, me, Sybbie, and Marigold are going on a picnic later, and that I'd like a basket of something. I'll take it and put it in my room. When we're all down at dinner, you sneak in, grab it, and go to William." He shrugged. "Simple."

"Won't she ask why you didn't bring the basket back?"

"What right has she to ask about anything we do?"

Maggie scoffed. "That doesn't sound snobbish."

George smiled slightly. "Sometimes we need to be snobbish."

"What about Bates? Won't he wonder when he comes to dress you?"

George shook his head. "He's Bates. He won't care."

At that moment, Barrow came through the doorway and faced them. "Her ladyship's asking for you, Miss," he said with a slight nod.

"What for?"

"Mr. Nicolas Grey is in the drawing room."

"What?"

Barrow held back a chuckle at Margaret's confusion. "He's with her ladyship. He's here to see you."

George turned to his sister. "Did you ask him here?"

Maggie shook her head. "Lord, no." She heaved a sigh, then stood. "If I can't chase him away within ten minutes," she said in a low tone to Barrow, "come rescue me."

Once they were sure she was up the stairs and out of earshot, Barrow and George laughed out loud.

"Poor Nicolas," George said with a chuckle. "He'll never accept that his cause is hopeless..."

* * *

Nicolas Grey was a decent-looking boy. His brown hair (so light it could be considered blonde,) was always neatly kept, and the same went for his clothes. He was short for his age, a mere 16, but if Maggie didn't initially detest him so, she would have found him attractive.

He stood upon her entrance into the drawing room.

"Margaret," Cora said with a smile. "You remember Nicolas?"

Nicolas gave her a slight bow and a smile. "Margaret."

Maggie acknowledged him. "Nicolas...It's been a long time."

Nicolas smiled again. "Yes, so it has. I'm moving out here in a bit, actually. So, you'll hopefully be seeing a lot more of me."

Maggie couldn't fully erase the displeasure from her face. "You're... _moving here_?"

"His mother doesn't feel that London is safe anymore," Cora explained. "And I think she's quite right."

"You've not met my mother, have you?" Nicolas asked.

Maggie shook her head. "No." Then added a, "Fortunately," under her breath.

Cora fixed her eyes on her in a glare, but somehow managed to keep her expression pleasant. "Margaret, I thought you could show Nicolas around the gardens. It's been so long since he's been to Downton."

"There's nothing interesting in the gardens."

Seeing her grandmother's look, she headed for the door, not bothering to hide the irritated sigh that escaped her.

* * *

Maggie had never liked the gardens. At least, not when the temperature still fluctuated between warm and cool. She couldn't stand the scent of pollen or grass, and the insects that plagued the area were tiresome. She and Nicolas walked in silence for a while. She felt slight guilt at her initial treatment of him, especially considering he had yet to insult her; his métier in their few encounters as children.

After a while, he surprised her by breaking the silence.

"I gather, you didn't ask me here today after all."

Maggie stopped walking and turned to him. She shook her head. "No," she said, trying to keep her tone gentle. "Who said I did?"

Nicolas looked slightly uneasy. "Your grandmother...the Dowager Countess."

Maggie didn't respond for a moment. Her gaze wandered as she fought to control the anger she could already feel building up. "What did she say?" she asked, a little more forcefully.

"She said..." Nicolas chuckled awkwardly. "Well, never mind what she said. But she implied that you were very eager to see me. She told me when to come."

Maggie heaved a sigh. "Nicolas, she's played a joke on us. I'm terribly sorry. And I apologize for her behaviour."

Nicolas shook his head. "It's quite alright. Really." He averted his gaze. "Well, I'd best be heading back to the village," he said, beginning to walk in the opposite direction. "Good day."

Maggie couldn't help but stare after him. She couldn't help but feel guilt. He hadn't been rude, or cruel. He hadn't even been snobbish. He had actually been... _nice_?

* * *

"Cousin Violet, London is being destroyed before our very eyes! We cannot expect innocent children to _remain_ there!" Isobel resisted the urge to slam her teacup down on the table.

She and Violet were sitting at a small table behind the dower house, with the intention of enjoying a calm, afternoon tea. Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Violet was nearing the end of her rope. "I understand your point, Isobel! But we cannot take in the entire youth population of London in our village!"

"I'm not asking for the entire population!" Isobel fought. "I'm only asking for a few host families! Is that so wrong?"

"My dear," Violet said, setting her cup and saucer down on the table as calmly as she could. "We have only just come out of a depression. Many of families in this village can barely afford to feed their own children, let alone the thousands that are in London."

Isobel thought for a moment. Violet did have a point. "Very well. What about the house?"

Violet looked appalled. "D-Do you hear yourself when you speak?! Or is it just a ringing in your ears?!" She scoffed. "We cannot have unidentified city children running amuck the abbey! Who in heaven's name would look after them?! Nanny Brown is gone, and if she is replaced, she can hardly be expected to care for children who are not even of the family!"

"What's wrong with getting volunteers?" Isobel questioned. "And you talk as though I want to bring in masses of them. I only mean a small number."

"Even so, it's..." Violet trailed off and her gaze focused on something behind Isobel. She sighed. "Well, she's prompt, I'll give her that."

"Who?" Isobel turned and followed her gaze.

Maggie was marching down the grassy hill behind the dower house, her blue dress blowing around her legs in the strong breeze. Her eyes were already fixed on Violet, her face trying in vain to mask her temper.

"I suppose it could be worse," Violet mused. "She could've come on horseback like the cavalry."

Isobel looked at her strangely, then turned back around. "Good day, Margaret!" she called.

Maggie didn't even acknowledge her as she reached them. She was focused solely on Violet. "How dare you!" she exclaimed as soon as she stopped in front of them.

"How dare I?" Violet asked, donning innocence.

"Granny, how could you set me up like that!"

Isobel immediately turned to her cousin. "What've you done now?"

Violet gave her a look as if to say _don't start_.

Maggie finally seemed to regard Isobel's presence. "She invited Nicolas Grey to the house and made it look as though _I_ asked him!"

"You've set her up with my step-grandchild?" Isobel asked incredulously. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I didn't think you'd mind!"

Now Isobel set down her tea unceremoniously on the table with a loud _clink!_ "For your information, Timothy and I are on very tolerable terms now, and I would've appreciated some information on the subject."

Violet glared at her as if to silence her. "Alright," she said with a note of finality in her voice. She turned to Margaret. "Margaret, I was not trying to upset you-"

Maggie scoffed. "You weren't trying to? Granny, do you know how embarrassing that was? He _knew_ from the moment I walked in that I'd no clue he'd be there. And to have to _tell him_ that? It was absolutely humiliating!"

Violet held up a hand and gave Maggie a harsh glare. "Now," she said sternly. "You've had your tantrum, let me say my piece. Nicolas Grey is a more than perfect match for you-"

"I'm fourteen!"

"It does not matter! If you begin to know him now it may make things easier in the future. He's from a good family, and a good upbringing. And while he has fair prospects, and a decent position, he is not next in line to anything, so you will not have to be responsible for producing any heirs."

The colour drained from Maggie's face, and she recoiled as if she'd been slapped.

After a moment, Isobel turned away and stood. "I'll leave you," she said quietly.

Violet rang the little bell beside her, and the back door was opened almost immediately by Spratt.

"Spratt, show Lady Merton into the drawing room. I'll be in presently."

Once they had left, Violet and Maggie remained in silence for a few moments. Eventually, Maggie spoke.

"How long've you known?" Her voice was cool and unwavering, and for a moment, Violet thought it was Mary standing in front of her, instead of her daughter.

"Since the day your mother brought you home from that appointment at the beginning of the summer," Violet confessed in an equally crisp tone. "All the women in this family know. I assume your mother told your father?"

Maggie nodded.

Violet gave her a knowing look. "And you've not mentioned it to George..."

"He doesn't need to know."

Another awkward silence settled between the two.

"Nothing's definite," Maggie eventually argued. "I've never been examined. At least...not as I should've been."

Violet looked at least partially sympathetic. "My dear, if it were only the word of one doctor, I may agree with you. But you have the diagnosis of two experienced physicians." She looked the girl up and down without intending to do so. "And even if you could conceive, with your health, I doubt you could keep it."

Maggie's face darkened. "Thank you for that."

"I'm sorry. That was rather harsh."

Maggie shook it off. "It doesn't matter."

"No...it does matter. But let's not talk about it now." She stood and collected herself, preparing to resume her conversation with Isobel in the drawing room. "And I hope you realise I truly never meant to upset you."

Maggie had already started the long trek back to Downton. But she turned to her great grandmother. "Did you assume you were making me happy?"

Violet didn't respond. She only watched the 14-year-old's retreating form, before sighing and rejoining Isobel.

* * *

AN: So, like I said, I thought it was kind of boring. But please review and tell me your thoughts! FYI: lots of angst coming in the future, for those of you who like it! Until next time!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

AN: So, I just want to put a language warning before this chapter. Nothing really bad, typical Downton Abbey stuff, but just incase it was going to majorly catch someone off guard. Also, sorry if this bores you guys, but this chapter is literally one big fight. But I hope I wrote it well. Enjoy!

-downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

That evening, Violet (politely, of course,) invited herself to dinner, claiming she hardly saw the family anymore, despite the fact that she had just been there the previous night. Isobel and Dickey were also in attendance. Now, Violet, Dickey, and Isobel were seated on the couch in the drawing room, with Sybbie in the chair adjacent to them and George by the fireplace. Cora, Edith, Marigold, and Rosamund, (who, to Sybbie's slight dismay, was now staying with them for an undeterminable amount of time until London was pulled out of the real life hell it had fallen into,) were by the door, speaking in hushed tones, while Mary, Robert, Tom, and Bertie were locked in the far corner of the room, their faces drawn and serious. No doubt they were discussing something about the estate. Or the war.

"Where's Margaret this evening?" Violet eventually asked as the conversation began to dissipate.

"She's tired," George answered coolly, surprised at how easily the lie came. _Well,_ he thought to himself as he took a sip of his drink. _It's not an entire lie. Not really._ "She's not coming down."

"Is this to do with your row this afternoon?" Isobel asked with a pointed look.

Violet gave her a glare.

"What row?" Sybbie asked.

"Nothing," Violet said dismissively. "We simply disagreed on something."

Isobel resisted the urge to scoff. "Disagreed is one word for it. I could hear both of you from inside the house."

"Thank you, Cousin Isobel," Violet said with a second glare, one somehow more deadly than the first. She took hold of her cane and prepared to get to her feet. "I think I'll go see her."

"No!" George said, a little too suddenly and hastily than was normal. He felt eyes flock to him. "I-I mean...She's sleeping. You don't want to disturb her. I'll look in on her when I go up." Sybbie's gaze remained focused on him curiously.

Violet did not seem to take the weak bait at all. She pursed her lips. "Well...If you're sure..."

George gave her a nervous nod and headed behind the couch to the windows, trying to focus his attention on the setting sun. He could sense his cousin's presence before she spoke.

"What was that about?" she whispered quietly, coming up next to him and peering at him suspiciously.

"What was what about?" he asked.

Sybbie scoffed. "George Crawley, you may have many good qualities, but you are an _awful_ liar."

George immediately turned to her. "Thank you."

"You know what I mean." She lowered her voice so that the others wouldn't hear. "Where is Margaret? Really?"

George looked behind them, as if to ensure no one else in the room was watching. Then he casually leaned closer to her and said in a low voice, "Two words, one name: William Bates."

Sybbie's eyes widened, and she resisted the urge to raise a hand to her mouth. "Oh..." she breathed. "You know?"

George nodded. "She told me last night."

Sybbie faced out the window. "I didn't think she would."

George shook his head and took another sip of his drink. "She should be nearly there by now."

Sybbie looked at him curiously. "Nearly where?"

"At the cottage."

"What cottage?"

George didn't get a chance to answer before Sybbie connected the dots.

"My God, he's _here_?!"

"SSSHHHH!"

George grabbed her arm, a little rougher then he'd intended, and pulled her further into the corner of the room.

"You said you knew!" he hissed, praying no one could hear them.

"I knew about the letters!" Sybbie retorted. "I didn't know he was _on the estate_!"

For a moment, George's volume increased just a bit, as did his confusion. "What letters? You mean the letter he sent to say he was coming?"

The colour drained from Sybbie's face, and for a moment, George actually thought she might faint, right there, on the spot. One hand flew to her mouth.

"My God...You don't know?"

"Know what?" Now George was more confused than ever. Wasn't that all? There wasn't anything more...was there?

Sybbie pressed both hands against her middle and took a deep, shuddering breath. "My Lord..." she whispered. "I thought you knew. When you said she'd told you I thought that was what you meant."

"You thought I meant what? Sybil, you're not making any sense!"

Sybbie still couldn't comprehend it. _No wonder he was so calm!_ she thought. _If he really knew he would be livid!_

"That's dinner everyone."

Cora's cool, calm voice cut through the fog in Sybbie's mind as the large party began to migrate into the dining room. Her father was already at the door, looking at her curiously. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but she was sure all she managed was a grimace.

 _Sybbie, why couldn't you just let it be?!_ her conscious scolded her. _Now you'll have to tell him, and it's not even your secret to tell! _She supposed she could always corner Margaret and _force_ her to tell George, but she was fond of her cousin, and if she ever wanted her to speak to her again-

Sybbie was pulled from her thoughts by George's hand on her shoulder. He stopped her and turned to face her.

"What did you mean when-"

"Not now," she said quietly, looking towards the door as if someone were lurking beyond it. "Come to my room tomorrow. Before breakfast. I'll tell you then."

* * *

George was prompt. Sybbie would give him that. She had fully expected him to show up to her room five minutes before going down to breakfast, expecting her to be able to explain everything in the allotted time without leaving a single detail out. But for once in his life George caught on that this wasn't quite as simple as he'd hoped, because he showed up an entire _hour_ before they both knew breakfast would even be laid out.

Now Sybbie stood by the window at the far side of the room, her hands clasped. George was by her bed, one hand on the wooden post that helped hold up the canopy.

"So," George said after a few moments of silence. "She's known where he's been all this time. She's been writing to him."

"Yes," Sybbie said with a nod.

George looked confused. "Well, I don't agree with her not telling Anna and Bates obviously," he said. "But you made it sound so-"

"That's not all of it."

For a moment, George was silent. "Well, what's the rest of it?"

Sybbie took a deep breath. "When...when Maggie and your mother went to London, when the bombing started, she asked Daisy to... _intercept_ , any mail for her."

George sat down on the bed. "Why?"

"She knew that if Barrow or Andrew saw it, they might recognize the handwriting, and they would've told Bates." Sybbie began to pace, her nerves getting the better of her. "When Daisy got it, she knew who wrote it. And she didn't feel comfortable keeping the secret, so she gave it to me. And I read it."

George's eyes widened; not so much at the act, but the fact that it was his considered-saintly cousin who had done it. "You read it?" he repeated in astonishment. He nearly laughed. "I'm sure that sat well."

Sybbie couldn't share his enthusiasm. "Yes, well...I read it, and I confronted Maggie about it. And from what she _and_ the letter said...she and William...w-well...since he left, they've...been... _involved_."

"What?" George asked in confusion. Then the block snapped into place. "Wait!"

Sybbie let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Now George stood and approached her quickly.

"'Involved?' You mean, as in...he's _with her_ , so to speak?"

"As in a relationship, yes."

George was still for a moment, then raked his hands through his combed hair in an effort to try to wrap his brain around the concept. He and Maggie had no secrets between them...didn't they? _He_ told her everything! Didn't she do the same?! Apparently not, in this instance.

"I can't...j-...do you still have the letter?"

Sybbie shook her head. "No. Why would I've kept it?"

George turned away, pacing towards the window at the other end of the room. "Did it say anything else?" he asked eventually.

"Um...well, he said...he said he _loved her_. But he said it because _she_ said it to _him_!"

George didn't comment. His hands went back to his hair as he paced, and Sybbie began to worry he would sooner or later rip every strand out.

"Did you really not know?" Sybbie asked him tentatively. She knew the bond her cousin shared with his sister. She knew that even though she was the closest thing Maggie had to a friend, there were still things she revealed to George and not her.

George didn't immediately respond, but after a while, he turned back to face her. "I thought when we were all younger that he might be sweet on her, but I _didn't_ think he still was and I _especially_ didn't think the feeling was mutual." He rubbed a hand across his face in frustration.

"Please don't confront her," Sybbie pleaded quietly.

George whipped around. "'Don't confront her?!' Sybbie, you know just as well as I do what will happen if she keeps this up!"

Now Sybbie was prepared to rip out her own hair. "Where is she now?"

"Her room, probably."

"Probably? Didn't you check on her last night to make sure she got back?!"

"No, because as of last night, I trusted her!"

"George, y-..." Sybbie trailed off and locked her gaze on something out the window. "Well, speak of the devil..."

George turned and followed her stare.

Maggie was down below, outside, having just emerged from the trees behind the house. She was in nothing but her nightgown and her slippers. She hurried into the courtyard, continuously looking side to side as if to make sure she wasn't being watched. Then she disappeared through the servants' entrance.

"She spent the whole night there?!" Sybbie asked in disbelief.

George didn't answer. He was fixated on the spot where Maggie had been running.

"It couldn't possibly have taken her that long to deliver food to him."

George's focus broke and he turned on his cousin. "Really, don't be such an imbecile, Sybil. Margaret can hardly go one night without sleep, and she definitely can't do two. So what's she been doing for ten hours while she was alone with William?"

It took Sybbie a moment to catch on. When she did, she took a step back as the blood rushed to her face.

" _George_! This is _Maggie_ we're speaking of! She wouldn't know _how_!"

"Honestly, Sybbie, she's fourteen! I expect she's figured it out!"

George gave one last glare to the outside, then turned around determinedly and marched to the door.

"George, George please don't do something you'll regret!"

Sybbie's words were cut off as George slammed the door behind him. The noise made Sybbie jump, and she clasped her hands to her face.

Good Lord...She had just started another war.

* * *

Maggie was still in her nightgown, with one slipper off and one on, and she jumped as her bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges, then slammed closed after George entered. His face was red, unusual for him, and he looked so like their grandfather in that moment that it actually made Maggie nervous.

"Georgie, wh-"

"You're a liar," he spat, cutting her off.

"What?"

"You lied to me. About William."

"I never-"

"You didn't mention ANYTHING about all the letters you had exchanged with him! Nor did you mention that you're now in a relationship with him!"

Maggie had backed up against the bed post, but now she went around so that something, however small, was separating her from George. Good God, was she afraid of her own _brother_?

A look of shock flashed across her face. "Sybbie told you?!"

George took a step forward, and Maggie followed with a step backward. "Yes, she told me! The way you should've done, but didn't!"

"You told me to tell you what Sybbie didn't know! She didn't know that he was here, so that's what I told you."

George nearly scoffed. "You know that's not what I meant when I said that! Something like this shouldn't have been kept from me!"

"Why?!" Maggie exclaimed. "You're not my father! It's my business, not yours!"

"It's every bit my business if you're being reckless!"

"How am I reckless?"

"Maggie, you haven't even been presented yet!"

"And with the war going the way it's going, I doubt I ever will!"

"That doesn't matter!" George took a large stride towards her. "You can't be with him, Maggie, and that's the end of it!"

"Why not? Because of money?!"

George backed off his offensive for a moment. "Do you really think that's all I care about?"

"Well, what do you care about?" Maggie questioned. "William's your best friend, George. And you had no problem with me spending time with him when we were younger."

"That's because it was half an hour in the servants' hall surrounded by adults! You weren't spending the entire night in a house _alone_ with him!"

"I _did not_ spend the entire night alone with him!"

That was a lie, and George knew it. And it only fueled his temper.

He pointed to the window. "I just saw you coming in from being with him!"

Maggie's face paled. She had been caught, and she knew it, and George knew that she knew it.

"What on earth were you doing all night?" he asked her, taking another step forward. Maggie, however, refused to move back. "Because it doesn't take countless hours to deliver food to a person. Weren't you tired?"

He asked the last question so cunningly...so accusingly...and Maggie had to wonder if it was truly the George she had grown up with standing before her. "Well, sort of."

George scoffed. "Of course. I'm sure whatever you were doing kept you awake."

He had done it. He had hit the switch that he knew would set her off.

"How dare you!" Maggie cried.

"How dare I?! How do _you_ dare?! Margaret, if anyone saw you coming out of that cottage and they find out he was in there, your reputation is ruined! It makes you look like a slut!"

"I beg your pardon?! I am _not_ a slut! Nothing happened, George!"

"They don't know that and nor do I!" George was vaguely aware that he was shouting at full volume now, and Maggie was very afraid that in a moment someone would open the door to see what the ruckus was all about. And to see the scene before them...what would a person think of it?

A look of hurt flashed across Maggie's face. "That was low. So, you don't even trust me now?"

"How can I?" He asked, beginning to calm down. "When you're nothing but a filthy liar?"

For a moment the two stood in silence until George began heading for the door.

"And I'm telling Mama."

Panic hit Maggie square in the chest. "No George! You mustn't, please!"

"I'm not going to keep two parents from their only child because you want to have an inappropriate romance with him."

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. "Like your on-again off-again fling with Charlotte Holdsworth is any better..."

George turned to her. "That's different."

"I don't see how. You see her what? Once a year? You two act as if you're practically engaged when you're together, but then the moment she's gone you're off hunting for another."

"Still. I've never taken her to bed."

"And I never did that with William!"

George had opened the door now, and was leaning on it. "So? It's your word against mine. Who's Mama going to believe?"

Maggie stared at him with hurt filled, anger glazed eyes. "You're a bastard."

George chuckled. "Maybe. But we'll see." He began to close the door, then stopped. "Have fun saving your own skin for once."

He shut the door quietly, and soon his footsteps retreated down the hall, until the sound disappeared into the morning.

* * *

AN: So, what did you guys think? I was actually pretty proud that I managed to spit out two chapter in a couple of days, when one nearly takes me a month to write. Anyway, please review! I hope you guys liked it!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

If the upstairs breakfast at Downton Abbey had at any time been a cheerful affair, then it was now as dreary as could be. Robert was at the head of the table, with more of his interest on the newspaper than on his food. Tom was to his right, and Sybbie cattycorner to him. None spoke. The only sound was the soft tinker of utensils on the china.

Robert sipped his coffee as his eyes scanned _The Yorkshire Gazette_ in his left hand. He gently set the cup back onto the saucer. "God in Heaven..." he muttered quietly.

Tom stopped and looked up at him. "What is it?"

"Balham station was hit last night," he explained. "Apparently it was in use as an air raid shelter when it was bombed."

Tom set down his silverware. "Oh, Lord...were there many casualties?"

Robert shook his head. "More than 50 dead, with plenty still missing." He put the paper down and resumed his breakfast, hoping to rid his mind of the calamity. "What is the world coming to..."

The three returned to their previous silence until a door was slammed on the second floor.

Robert's gaze drifted upwards. "What in God's name..."

Footsteps were heard thudding on the stairs, and a moment later Maggie entered. She headed for the sideboard without acknowledging her family's presence.

"Margaret, was that your door that slammed?" Robert asked, an edge to his voice.

"No, sir, it was George." Maggie's irritable response came from between gritted teeth. She grabbed a plate from the neat stack and scooped a small spoonful of fruit onto it.

"What's the matter with him?"

"Plenty."

Robert's head shot up at the response as Maggie came around the side of the table to take her seat.

"I beg your pardon, would you care to rethink your tone?"

Maggie stopped behind her own chair. She looked ready to retaliate, but Tom gave her a warning look.

"Sorry," she mumbled, ducking her head as she took her seat next to Sybbie.

After a moment, Robert went back to his food.

A thick silence fell over the room's occupants once again. Sybbie continuously sent glances in Maggie's direction. The uncommon upset had of course perturbed Robert, and he found he wasn't enjoying his meal nearly as much as he would have liked. Tom couldn't help but watch the unusual exchange between his daughter and niece.

Suddenly, Maggie threw her fork onto her plate with a clatter, and turned on Sybbie with a vengeance. "Will you stop staring at me?!" she nearly shouted.

"Maggie, I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not! If you were truly sorry, you wouldn't have said anything!"

"I had no choice! I-"

" _Girls_!" Robert bellowed. "That is _enough_!" he slammed his fist on the table, making both girls jump. "I will not have our breakfast spoiled. If you cannot behave appropriately, then I ask that you please leave the table."

Sybbie and Maggie shared a glare, then reluctantly returned to their meals.

Sybbie turned to her cousin and lowered her voice as much as possible. "You don't understand," she whispered, praying that Robert wouldn't overhear. "I was in a difficult position."

"I highly doubt he held you against the wall at gunpoint!" Maggie hissed back. "What's wrong with just not mentioning it?!"

"What did I just say?" Robert scolded. He had dropped his fork and knife onto his plate, and even Thomas, who was behind them at the sideboard, could see that the earl was losing his temper quickly.

"If neither of you have anything kind to say, then I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourselves and let us eat in peace.

Both girls averted their eyes and almost instantly obeyed. It was well-known throughout the house that if there was anyone who should not be crossed when angry, it was Robert. Despite the fact that he was their grandfather, and not their parent, he showed no hesitation in disciplining them if he saw it was due.

Once again, silence deafened the room. Glances circled between Tom, Sybbie, and Maggie, while Robert remained oblivious.

After a few minutes of the awkward silence, George stormed into the room. He gave no acknowledgement to the four at the table.

Robert didn't face him as he spoke, but turned his head. "George, did you slam a door upstairs?" he asked.

George gave no answer. He roughly grabbed a plate from the stack and nearly slammed it down on the (thankfully) cloth covered sideboard.

Now Robert turned in his chair. "George Crawley, I asked you a question," he said sternly. Lord, what was the matter with everyone this morning?

"I heard you." George left the sideboard and headed towards his seat.

"I beg your pardon?!"

Again, George remained stoic as he set his plate down and pulled out the chair.

Sybbie gave him a glare across the table. "What in God's name did you say to her?" she hissed between gritted teeth, hoping to avoid another confrontation with her grandfather.

"Do we have to do this now?" George exclaimed.

"Yes, we do!"

" _Enough_!" Robert rose from his seat and forcefully threw his napkin against the silverware. "I don't know what in Heaven's name has been happening, but it stops now! Will someone please tell me what this is about?"

None of the children moved. Their eyes remained locked on Robert for a moment, and when he sent each of them an expectant look, they looked away. Tom sat uncomfortably in his seat, looking as though he was ready to flee.

"Well?!" Robert said after a few moments of silence.

"Sybbie betrayed me," Maggie said quietly.

"I did not betray you!"

"Yes, you did!" Maggie stood from her seat. "You did, and you know it!"

George leaned forward. "She didn't betray you, Margaret, she told the truth. Which is more than what you've been doing."

"Oh, shut up!"

George sprung up from his seat. "Don't tell me what to do!"

"Why not?! You always do it to me!"

"I will repeat this one last time!" Robert yelled, effectively silencing them. "If you cannot behave in a civil manner, then please leave us in peace." He sat down hard on his chair and picked up his newspaper, waiting for George and Maggie to follow his instructions.

A few beats of silence passed, then Maggie flung her napkin down on the table and began to stalk to the door.

"Margaret," Robert said, with the tone of a man who was nearly at the end of his rope. "You haven't excused yourself."

"I don't need to."

While Robert looked after her in shock, George scoffed.

"Expect nothing more of her, grandpapa," he said. "You should except the fact that your youngest granddaughter is no better than a female dog." **(1)**

That set the room dead quiet. Tom felt his stomach drop. Robert was appalled, but still clouded by confusion. Sybbie clasped a hand over her mouth, knowing that George had as good as lit the fuse of the ticking time bomb that was Margaret Talbot.

Maggie stopped stock still by the sideboard that held the coffee, and turned back to face her brother. George didn't look smug. Indeed, if he did, it would certainly pin some of the occupants of the table against him. But she could see it in his eyes. He felt as if he had won. As if he had beaten her. He looked almost glad to be witnessing her pain. And it set Maggie off.

She grabbed the white china pitcher of milk from the sideboard and covered the distance between her and her brother in only four long strides. George had no time to dodge it. Maggie thrust it towards him, the milk sloshing out and connecting with George's hair and the front of his suit. It created a generously sized puddle at his feet. And no sooner had it touched the carpet than it began to absorb into the luscious material.

George yelled out some obscenity in surprise, and when he had gotten his bearings, prepared to end the entire ordeal right there.

" _Margaret!"_ Robert exclaimed.

Maggie dropped the pitcher, and it hit the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces. She dashed from the room just as George lunged.

"You little brat! I'll kill you, do you hear me?!"

Sybbie rose and very nearly had to restrain George from going after her.

Robert was already halfway out the door. "Barrow," he ordered. "Get one of the maids to clean that up immediately. We can't have it ruining the carpet."

"Yes, m'lord."

Robert didn't even hear the polite reply. He was gone, with Barrow soon following him to head down to the servants' quarters.

George shook out his hands to try to rid his sleeves of milk. He gave Sybbie a glare. "This is your fault."

"How is it _my_ fault?!"

George approached her and jabbed a finger in her face. "You should never have read the letter! Then we'd all be in ignorance!" He began to head for the door. "Ignorance is bliss; didn't you know that?"

Once he had gone, Sybbie let out a shuddering breath she didn't know she'd been holding. After a few moments of silence, her gaze flickered to her father.

Tom wasn't full of rage, nor even anger. But she could see the tension in his eyes, and she didn't like it.

"Outside. Now." was all he said.

Sybbie obeyed.

* * *

Tom tried to resist the urge to pace. He clasped his hands behind his back, then unclasped them and folded them in front, then changed his mind again, too shaken up to think clearly. He had taken Sybbie out into the gardens, close to the house, but far enough away that they wouldn't be disturbed. She was seated in front of him on one of the stone benches, her hands gripping the edge so hard that her knuckles began turning white. For a while, the two remained in silence, but the tension that hung over them was nearly suffocating.

Eventually, Tom spoke.

"I don't know where to start," he said quietly, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Sybbie shook her head, but remained silent, and kept her eyes on her father's shoes.

Tom came closer, unsure if Sybbie was frightened to speak or just unsure.

"What was it even about?" he asked softly. He took a seat next to her. "And what was your part in it?"

Sybbie hesitantly looked up at her father. "Da...Maggie already hates me...and I doubt we'll be talking anytime soon." She looked as if she were searching him, seeing if she could trust him with this. "You _have to_ promise me you won't tell anybody. Not a soul. Do you swear it?"

Tom nodded, even though he knew it was unlikely he would keep the promise. And deep down, he knew Sybbie knew it too.

Sybbie took a deep breath, and Tom thought she looked as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. "A while back," she began. "Maggie received a letter." Sybbie paused, taking a final moment to ponder if she really wanted to do this. Her mouth decided before her mind. "It was from William Bates."

* * *

Anna knocked softly on the door of George's dressing room, then entered after a strained, "Yes?" came through the door. She stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. "I just came to see if you needed anything," she explained. "You've been up here a while."

Bates sighed from his position across the room. "I don't think there's anything else I can do."

"Have you tried soda crystals? They might work."

Bates nodded. "Twice."

Anna exhaled. "Oh..."

It had been nearly an hour and a half after the "incident" at the upstairs breakfast, and the servants' hall was full of it. Bates had been isolated in George's dressing room every since, trying, in vain, to remove the milk from his jacket. While he had managed to get the majority of the liquid out, patches still remained, and it was clear the stench was permanent. Bates could only thank God that George had decided to go down in a normal suit instead of his uniform. Had _that_ been ruined, Bates wasn't sure what he would have done...

He shook his head. "We'll have to get rid of it."

"Lady Mary won't be happy about that," Anna said. "She'll want to get him a new one, and he's only got a few days of leave left."

"I think he has enough suits," Bates chuckled. He turned to her has he began tidying up. "Has Lady Mary corralled them yet?"

Anna sighed. "She's spoken with Master George. She's not happy with him. But he's not the one that vandalized the dining room. And Miss Margaret's nowhere to be found, so she's angrier at her."

"She's run off?"

Anna nodded. "She's gone out on Sonny. And it's been a while, so she could be just about anywhere by now." She had to bite back a laugh. "Lord knows what she's gone out in. Her riding clothes are still in her wardrobe, so that's one more thing to fuel Lady Mary."

Bates chuckled.

"What do you suppose it was about?"

Bates shrugged. "Master George didn't say anything when he came up to change. I am curious, though. It's strange for them.

Anna remained silent, but she definitely agreed.

* * *

"George."

George kept his gaze focused straight ahead, paying no mind to the owner of the voice. He pulled his cap down so it shielded his face from the sun, then shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

" _George_." The footsteps were faster now, yet still a distance behind him. If he just stayed quiet and kept walking, maybe they'd go away.

" _Damn it, George Crawley_!" Suddenly a hand forcefully grabbed his arm and sharply jerked him backwards.

"Bloody-" He yanked his arm out of his cousin's grasp. "Sybbie, leave me alone, would you?!"

"I will not!" Sybbie exclaimed. Then she tried her best to compose herself. "I don't want to fight with you George, I just want to talk." Her voice was softer now. Calming. She hoped it would help diminish his temper.

For a moment, George did nothing but glare at her. Then he motioned to her. "Fine. Go ahead."

Sybbie kept her voice placid. "What did you say to her?"

"What needed to be said."

She couldn't resist a scoff. "I have a feeling you and I have very different opinions on what needed to be said."

George glared.

Sybbie didn't hesitate to continue. "I've told my father."

George's gaze changed, but Sybbie couldn't read it. "Well, you've done my job for me," he scoffed. "Because we both know your father can't keep his mouth shut about anything."

Sybbie's expression hardened, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You speak as though _your_ mother's a saint. Everyone in this house knows she can be a real witch when she wants to be."

George shot her a look, but said nothing.

"You can't tell her George." Sybbie's voice took on a slightly pleading tone.

"And why not?"

Sybbie scoffed. "George, I know you want to get her in trouble, but this won't _just_ effect Maggie. Bates and Anna will _lose_ their _jobs._ They'll probably be kicked off the estate. And God knows what Donk would do to William if he found out." She paused. "Why...why do you want to tell so badly? Are you angry with her?"

George sighed. "No. I'm not angry with her. At least I wasn't. But it's for her own good! What do you think people would say if they caught her coming out of that cottage? While William was staying there? Do you think they'd be forgiving? No, they wouldn't!"

Sybbie sighed. "George...I don't think Maggie did anything wrong."

George removed his cap, the sun now at his back and out of his eyes. He wrung it in his hands. "How can you know that? You don't know if she's done something wrong."

"And you don't know that she has." Sybbie paused. "Did you look in on Maggie before you went to bed last night?"

George shook his head. "No."

"So you don't know if she was gone at that point?" Sybbie reasoned. "She may have still been in the house."

"The food was gone from my room."

"That doesn't mean anything. She could have taken it and kept it in hers until she left." She took a step towards him. "All we know is that she returned to the house before breakfast this morning. We don't know how long she was at the cottage. There's no proof she's done anything wrong."

"But there's no proof that she hasn't!" George exclaimed, growing frustrated that he couldn't make his cousin understand his point. "Sybbie, we can't just let this go! She can't keep on like this! What if she gets herself pregnant?!"

Sybbie shook her head. "George, trust me, Maggie's not pregnant."

"You don't know that," he said, turning away from her and pacing in an effort to cool off. "She's fourteen. She's not too young." He turned back to her. "You don't think she used something?"

If the conversation wasn't so tense, Sybbie might have laughed at the thought. "No, I don't think she knows about... _those_."

"So, she could be?"

"She's not."

George looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

A sudden feeling of dread washed over Sybbie. "W-what?"

George took a step closer. "You said she can't be pregnant. What did you mean?"

Sybbie took a hesitant step back. "I didn't mean anything." Seeing George's look, she tried to cover it up, although there was little chance of that now. "If she didn't do anything than she can't be..."

George shook his head. "No. You said it as if she had done it. Why? What did you mean?" George's voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the accusatory tone it held. He expected an answer. "Sybbie?"

For a moment, Sybbie was silent. She kept her gaze on the ground. It really wasn't for her to say. Maggie would kill her if she found out. But she had already exposed nearly every secret between her and her cousin in the course of an hour...what was one more? Eventually, she found her voice.

"George...Maggie can't have children."

The next thirty seconds or so were asphyxiatingly silent as the words sunk into George's mind. Sybbie looked incredibly guilty, as if she had just revealed something that would make her hang. Their eyes remained fixated on each others' as their thoughts swirled.

"What?" he finally asked quietly.

Sybbie knew she had to give him the full story. At least, what she knew, anyway.

"At the beginning of the summer, your mother was...worried, about something with Maggie." She stopped him as he opened his mouth to speak. "Don't ask me, I don't know what it was. But she took her to see Dr. Clarkson, and he referred them to Dr. Ryder." Sybbie paused. "Maggie is...unable to bear children."

George shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand. She's so young...how can they be sure?"

"Dr. Ryder...looked at her," Sybbie answered. "Dr. Clarkson didn't, but he agrees with him. That's all I know George. And it wasn't for me to say. Your mother should've told-"

"How long've you known?" George interrupted. His confusion was now steadily being replaced by that accusatory attitude again.

"Since it happened."

"Who else knows?"

Sybbie resisted the urge to wring her hands, knowing it wouldn't help the matter. "All the women in the family. And your step-father, of course."

George gave her a look that she was sure could freeze an ocean. "And why didn't anyone tell me?"

Sybbie shook her head. "I-I don't know, George. You'd have to ask your mother."

George scoffed. "My mother doesn't tell me things." He sent her a glare. He was finished with the conversation. "There. We've had our talk now. Are you happy?"

All at one, Sybbie's guilt was replaced by irritation. "No...but that doesn't matter, does it?"

* * *

The knock on the stable door was soft, but he knew she could hear it. "Mags?"

George leaned against the door frame, his hands in his pockets. He had been, (shadily, he might add,) watching for Maggie's return from his window, and had snuck down the moment she reached the stables. Now she had Sonny tied up and untacked, and was brushing him down so that she could re-tack him in a moment.

She ignored George's voice, instead continuing with her work.

George came further into the stable. "Maggie...look I'm sorry."

Again, no answer. Maggie tossed the brush aside and reached for her saddle. She placed it over the horse's back.

"I know I overreacted."

Maggie remained silent as she crouched on the ground to cinch the saddle's straps around Sonny's stomach.

"I had no right to say some of the things that I did."

Maggie slipped the bridle over Sonny's head and positioned it accordingly.

"Maggie, please..."

The 14-year-old swung herself up onto the horse's back, leaning down to adjust the stirrups. George came right up beside Sonny and placed a gentle hand on the horse's neck.

"I'm your brother," he said. "You'll have to talk to me at some point."

Maggie's head snapped down, and her eyes locked on his. Her glare was ice, her face taught, and her expression blank, covered with a façade he had only ever seen her use on their mother.

"You're my _half-brother_ ," she spat. "That's not at all the same."

Then she kicked Sonny into a full gallop and retreated out the stable door.

* * *

 **(1)-We all know what that is, right? Starts with a b... But I try to keep it clean...not counting the last chapter...**

AN: Holy cow...okay, that was almost 4,000 words! Way longer than I intended it to be! But I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Barrow tried his best to ignore the feeling of dread that had settled in his stomach. He was standing in the dining room, overseeing the vain attempts to save the carpet. Sarah and Angela, the two housemaids, were currently kneeling on the floor, around the dark stain that was once fresh milk. The group had been in their current positions for over two hours, resorting from gentle dabbing to full-on scrubbing; grating the rags against the carpet like there was no tomorrow. Barrow rubbed a hand across his face and resisted the urge to heave a sigh. Good Lord, they were going to lose their jobs all because of a kid...

"How're we doing?"

Mrs. Hughes's gentle voice made him jump. She hadn't intended to startle him, but he had been lost deep in his thoughts, and hadn't heard her enter. She gave him an apologetic smile at his reaction.

Once he had recovered, he shook his head and lowered his voice. "We're going to be sacked," he said in a monotone voice.

Mrs. Hughes sighed. While she knew Barrow was exaggerating, she saw the condition of the carpet. And while Barrow's job and hers were secure, if nothing could be done against the stain, Sarah and Angela would not be in the family's good graces.

"Have you tried sprinkling corn starch on it and letting it soak it up?" she asked the girls.

"More times than I have fingers," Sarah answered, not ceasing her scrubbing. "And it was all for naught. It's ruined. What'll we do now?"

"Well," Mrs. Hughes said, more to Barrow than the girls. "We can shift the table to the left a bit. That should cover it for now. That won't make the room too off will it?"

Barrow shook his head. "No, I don't think so." He sighed. "I'll go and fetch and Andy and we'll do it now."

"What shall we tell his Lordship?" Sarah asked as Barrow exited the room.

"The truth," Mrs. Hughes said matter-of-factly. "If we can live through it."

* * *

William ran a shaking hand roughly through his hair. "I don't understand why you couldn't just keep quiet about it," he said, in a tone that suggested he was fighting to keep his temper under control.

"I didn't say a word!" Maggie cried defensively. "How was I to know George would find me the other night?"

"But when Sybbie told him today and he questioned you, you could've denied it!" William's face flushed with anger as he leaned against one of the chairs in the kitchen of the cottage. "Now he's going to tell, and I'm a dead man!"

"George isn't stupid. He'd never have believed me if I'd denied it."

"But you could've tried!" William exclaimed. "You didn't even try to hide it! God, Margaret, how could you be so senseless?!"

Now Maggie rose from her position on the couch and crossed her arms. "I beg your pardon?!" She took a step towards him. "I _did_ try, William. I got up every Tuesday morning at the same time as the _scullery maid_ so that I could get down to the post office and intercept your letters before they could ever reach the house and the servants could find out. I nearly got killed the other night trying to bring you food while it was _pitch black_ and pouring _buckets_ out so that no one would see me." She didn't choose to point out that she had nearly lost Sonny, an American thoroughbred that had cost Cora's mother nearly two thousand American dollars to send overseas. She figured it wouldn't quite help her point. "I lied to my brother about you, and I told him and Sybbie two different stories. If they got together and had sharing time between them, it's not my fault! And if you think it is, then damn you!"

William's gaze hardened, and his face grew taught. "Oh, for God's sake, shut up and get down off your high horse!" He turned towards the window, then turned back on her with a vengeance. "You realize George will come after me now..." He scoffed. "I wouldn't put it past him to come here and kill me...or at least beat the bloody hell out of me!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. He's not going to come after you. Much less kill you." Seeing the look on William's face, Maggie tried to lose some of her irritation. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I tri-"

"Oh, 'I tried! I tried!'" William cried, mimicking her. "Damn it, Margaret, next time try a little harder!"

At that comment, Maggie gave up on trying to keep her temper in check. "What makes you think there'll be a next time?" The question was icy, reserved, and suddenly the tension in the room intensifies.

"What?"

Maggie gave him a venomous look. "I want you out of here by tomorrow morning."

For a moment, William was silent. Then he scoffed. "You can't do that."

"Can't I? This is my family's property. I can do whatever I please."

"Maggie, I h-"

"That's _not_ my name. It's Miss Margaret. Isn't that how servants are supposed to address their masters?"

William gave her a look that said he was dealing with a spoiled child. " _You_ are not my master, and I am _not_ your servant. I'm your _equal_."

Maggie scoffed. "Really? In what way?"

"Personality...nearly age...I would say intelligence, but your clearly not very high in that area..." His face lost its rudeness and took on a more serious expression. "I have nowhere else to go," he said, not pleadingly, but in a voice he hoped would make her show at least a small amount of pity. "I can't stay at the pub, it's too risky."

"So leave."

"I haven't got any money!"

Maggie headed for the door now, placing her hand on the handle. "I want you off the estate by tomorrow morning. If I find you here, I'll call the police. And I'll make up some sob story, and you'll be arrested." She yanked open the wooden door. "Good luck when you get back." **(1)**

Then she slammed the door closed behind her as she left. William grabbed the wooden chair he was leaning on and roughly shoved it against the kitchen table. The wood scraped against the floor, but William didn't even hear the noise as he raked his hands through his hair.

* * *

"Mag?"

Sybbie's soft call received no answer as she focused her gaze on the hayloft of the stable. With a sigh, she stepped gingerly up the ladder, then carefully eased herself up onto the ledge. "Maggie."

The 14-year-old was sitting in the far corner of the hayloft, and was completely concealed from view if someone were looking up from the ground. She pulled her knees tighter to her chest, ignoring her cousin's presence.

Sybbie huffed and reluctantly climbed fully onto the ledge, grateful that she had been sensible enough to change into pants before coming out to the stables. She crawled across the loose piles of hay (as she would have to bend uncomfortably far down to walk,) then settled back against a firm bale across from her cousin.

"Maggie, you really should come back now," she urged gently. "Your mother's terribly angry, and this is only going to make it worse."

Again, Maggie didn't answer, keeping her gaze focused on her left hand at her side, where her fingers fiddled with a strand of hay.

"Maggie-"

"William's gone." The statement wasn't pitiful, or hurt. It was stated in a sort of half-sad tone, as if Maggie wasn't truly sure of what she was feeling.

"What?"

Maggie took a deep breath, and her gaze flickered to the 20-year-old. "When I left, I went to the cottage, and I told him everything. How upset George was, and how we fought...and he was angry with me. Because I couldn't fix it." She looked back at the ground. "Anyway, we argued...we both said some awful things, and I told him to get out. So, he's gone now."

Sybbie leaned back against the hay bale behind her. "Two fights in one day...you do take the cake."

Maggie didn't say anything.

Sybbie scooted forward so that she was closer to her, and leaned forward. "I just want you to know," she said softly, a trace of guilt in her voice. "I never would've told George about you and William if I'd known he didn't know. You have to know that." Maggie's gaze finally met hers, and Sybbie shook her head. "It's just, when we were talking...he sounded as if he knew, and-"

"Sybbie," Maggie said firmly, though her tone was subdued. "I'm not angry with you." She looked away guiltily. "And I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Sybbie shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She sighed. "I've told my father," she said quietly. "And he's going to keep quiet about it."

Maggie nodded.

For a moment, both girls were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. When Sybbie spoke again, her voice was soft and gentle, as if she was afraid Maggie wouldn't tell her anything if she questioned her harshly.

"What happened between you and George?" she asked. "This morning, in your room."

Again, Maggie looked away. "He was angry," she said with a dull shrug. Seeing her cousin's look, she continued. "He...he accused me of doing something. With William."

"You mean last night?"

Maggie's eyes met hers again. "How did you know?"

"This morning, when I told George," Sybbie explained. "We were in his bedroom. We saw you come in. That's how he knew."

Maggie exhaled slowly, but remained silent.

"Why were you there all night?"

Maggie's head lifted. "I wasn't there all night."

Sybbie gave her a confused look. "You didn't?"

"I took the food basket from George's room while you were all at dinner," Maggie explained. "So that I wouldn't wake him by getting it later. Then I went back to my room and slept until three in the morning. _Then_ I went to William at the cottage. I had to Sybbie, I hadn't slept the night before."

"But why were you there until nearly seven this morning?" Sybbie asked. "You know what that looks like..."

"Nothing happened," Maggie said with a slight shake of her head. "We talked. I'd wanted to get back before the servants woke up but I couldn't. But I swear all we did was talk."

"So nothing happened?"

Maggie firmly shook her head, but she looked almost desperate for Sybbie to believe her. " _Nothing_ happened."

Sybbie couldn't help but feel relieved at that part. While she had disagreed with George, a part of her, (a small part, mind you,) had been just _slightly_ doubtful of Maggie's innocence. But hearing it from her cousin assuaged her fears, and she didn't hide the barely audible sigh of relief that escaped her.

Maggie didn't share her enthusiasm, however. "Sybbie...he told me something."

Sybbie turned serious. "What?"

Maggie released her knees and crossed her legs in front of her. "He was going to tell me the day he got here. But everything went wrong and he never had the chance. But last night, we had time." She moved her gaze from straight ahead to her lap where her hands lay. "He received a notice, from the War Office, just before he left London to come here. He's being moved."

"Moved?"

Maggie nodded. "Switched, so to speak." Her eyes met her cousin's, and her face took on a sort of lost look; a look Sybbie had only seen the _one_ time she had ever seen Maggie cry.

But Maggie's eyes were dry as she spoke. "He's being moved to the RAF."

* * *

 **(1) Back to the front, even at this point there wasn't much of a front. I felt like that sentence could've meant back to the front or Yorkshire, so I put this here in case of any confusion.**

And becoming part of the RAF was almost like signing a death sentence because it was THE MOST DANGEROUS JOB! Will William die? Will George and Maggie reconcile? Will George tell Mary? WHAT WILL HAPPEN?! BTW, sorry for the long wait you guys! I know that was kind of extreme, and I know this was kind of a boring chapter, but please review! Updates for all my stories, (which you should totally go to my page and check out,) will probably be a bit longer in wait now, because I'm starting school tomorrow, but any free time I have will be devoted to this, so don't worry!

Reviews are my life!

-downtonabbey15


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Sybbie sighed as she pushed open the drapes in Maggie's bedroom, the soft morning light unwelcomingly flooding the area.

From the bed, Maggie threw an arm over her eyes to block out the sun's rays. "Why is it that Marigold may have a tutor, and I must attend the village school?"

Sybbie plopped down unceremoniously into the light pink armchair in the corner by the window. "Because Marigold wouldn't dare get near the village children. She's a snob."

"Maybe I'm a snob."

Sybbie chuckled. "It won't be as bad as you think," she reassured her. "You'll find lots of children your age to talk to, and in a few days, you'll see it's no different than Clarke."

Now Maggie sat up and gave her a look. "I _want_ it to be different than Clarke. I hated it there."

"That's because you picked fights."

"I did not!" Maggie defended. She pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "And you talk as if I hit those girls. We only argued."

"And yet your mother got more letters from the headmaster than from you."

Maggie glared at her, then stood, grabbed her clothes from the foot of the bed, and went behind her screen to change.

"Have you spoken to George?" Sybbie asked after a few moments of silence.

Behind the screen, Maggie stopped what she was doing, then resumed after a brief moment. "No," she eventually said in a warning tone, hoping to indicate that she didn't want to talk about it.

Sybbie didn't get the hint. "Maggie, it's been two days."

"And your point is?"

Sybbie sighed in exasperation, and after a beat of silence, she spoke. "Why would you say that to him?"

"You heard what he called me."

"But you hurt him, Maggie," Sybbie protested. "You and George never cared about your blood, and now you've as good as stabbed him. Don't you think you should've apologized by now?"

Maggie didn't answer.

"You must make right with him, Maggie. He leaves tomorrow!"

"That's his choice," Maggie said, coming out from behind the screen fully dressed. "Nothing's happening, at least not with the army. He could probably stay if he wanted to."

"You know he can't," Sybbie said, standing and following Maggie to her vanity. "Maggie, if he goes, and something happens, and you didn't try to make amends, you'll never forgive yourself."

"Yes, I will."

Sybbie reeled back, then scoffed. "You're a child, that's what you are," she said in a spiteful tone in her cousin's ear. "You're cold, and heartless, and you're just like your mother."

Maggie's head snapped up to meet her cousin's gaze. "I am _not_."

"You most certainly are." Sybbie headed back for the door, then turned and looked back halfway there. "I know George wasn't fair to you in some of the things that he said, but neither were you." She opened the door, then once again stopped. "And just so you know, I _was_ on your side. Now I'm not so sure."

* * *

"I've been looking for you."

Mary's voice stopped Tom in his tracks as he headed towards the library. He turned as she descended the stairs and came towards him. She was fully dressed to go out in a long coat and burgundy hat. Gloves were clutched in her left hand.

"I wanted to ask you a favour."

"Oh?"

Mary stopped in front of him. "Would you be willing to walk Margaret down this morning? You needn't go all the way to the school, but I don't want her going to the village on her own." She gestured to the front door. "I was going to, but some friend of Mama's...apparently her son was just killed in the RAF, and Mama wants Edith and I there. She lives in Ripon, so we won't be long. It's not too much trouble, is it?"

Tom shook his head. "Not at all. Do you need me to walk her back this afternoon?"

Mary shook her head. "I don't think so. If I think it necessary I'll send the car."

Tom looked a bit uneasy. "Is that such a good idea?"

"What do you mean?"

"Mary, I doubt the village children will be that keen on her to begin with, considering she grew up _here_. Won't sending the car just make it worse?"

Mary rolled her eyes as she pulled on her gloves. "Tom, the village children _know_ we have cars. It's not as if we can hide them. And why should it make them dislike her?"

"J-..." Tom shook his head and didn't finish.

"Very well, if it bothers you so much I won't send a car. It'll be lighter out this afternoon anyway..." She strode purposefully to the door, leaving Tom to stand at the edge of the Great Hall. "Oh," she called back, turning around to face him. "When we get back I want to look in on Mr. Mason, just to see how he's doing. And we ought to start looking for a new pig man. I know you want to put it off, but really..."

"Mr. Mason is doing fine on his own," Tom insisted. "He has Andrew, and Daisy, and he's hired help before."

"Maybe, but he's not getting any younger."

"You know I'll be down at the shop when you go there."

Mary hesitated before she answered. "Yes, I know," she responded cooly.

"Don't fire him without me, Mary, _please_."

"You _hired_ him without _me_ , so I think it's fair game. But of course I won't. You don't think I'm that underhanded, do you Tom?"

"Of course not," Tom was quick to reply. "But if you saw it necessary, you would."

"It is necessary; or at least it will be. Soon. But I wouldn't do it without speaking to you." She resumed her walk to the door, calling over her shoulder. "Margaret should leave in about half an hour if she's to be on time. And I don't want her late on the first day, Tom."

The clack of her heels was the only sound that echoed through the hall, as Tom sighed at his sister-in-law's retreating back.

* * *

"I'm sorry your mother couldn't walk you down." Tom's well meant comment went without acknowledgement as Maggie kept her gaze focused on the road ahead of her.

"She would've come if she could," Tom tried again. "She's just very busy."

"I don't need to be walked down. I'm not a child."

"She knows that. But it's your first day, and I think she just wanted to make it special for you."

"If she wanted to make it special, then why didn't she come?"

Tom opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, realizing that he didn't truly have an answer for her. Maggie had the habit (a rude one, at that,) of saying things that one wasn't quite able to respond to. There were the few times it had been helpful, getting her out of social situations that she didn't want to be in. But it grated on Tom's nerves none the less.

For a while the two walked in silence. It was quiet at that time of morning; not quite early, but still not late enough for there to be an abundance of light. A cool breeze blew, ruffling their clothing and the leaves on the surrounding trees.

"You could've stopped at the gate, you know," Maggie eventually said, glancing at him. "I can walk myself. And there's no need for you to make such a long walk, anyway."

"I promised your mother," Tom responded. "And I don't mind."

 _Well, I do,_ Maggie snapped in her head. She had to stop herself from saying it outloud. She wasn't mad at Tom, or anyone else really. Or maybe she was. She wasn't sure anymore. The chain of grudges that she had managed to compile in just four days had become far too long for her to even try to comprehend.

Again an awkward silence hovered, creating a tense atmosphere. The pair remained silent, until the village came into view a few minutes later. It was quiet at this time of the morning, but a few people could be seen milling about the streets as they began their day.

Maggie turned to Tom but didn't stop walking, instead quickening her pace. "I all right from here, thanks."

Tom stopped. "Are you sure?"

Maggie nodded. "Quite sure. Bye, Uncle Tom." She turned her back to him and hurried down the road, leaving Tom to stare at her retreating form for a moment before turning back in the direction of the house.

Maggie kept up a quick pace as she headed towards the school house, clutching the small bag that held her lunch tightly in her hands. She kept her head low, not wanting to endure the light chorus of "Good day"s **(1)** and hat doffs that came when people realized who she was.

She had never particularly liked the village. On the rare appearances she had made there as a child, she experienced nothing but uneasiness and a sense that she was out of place. The gossipy women fawned over her, treating her as if she were an infant. Fraulein Ilsa had kept her clear of the pub men; they were a breed, she said, that Margaret did not want to meet. And the handful of children she had met were some of the most ill-mannered, rude, and in one word, revolting creatures she'd laid eyes on.

Which was why she was now standing frozen at the entrance gate of the school grounds, watching the groups of children within play before the bell was rung. She tentatively grasped the handle and was about to push the gate open, when she was suddenly shoved sideways, and nearly collided with the stone wall that surrounded the building. She looked up into the stern face of a boy who had to be about sixteen, maybe older.

"If you're not goin' in, then get outta the way," he grumbled, pushing open the metal gate so he and a few other boys could pass through. The boys gave her taunting laughs, and one actually reached right over to her and touched her cheek in a "cheer up" sort of way.

Once the group had passed, Maggie scoffed. _All right,_ she thought to herself. _My mother might actually be insane._

Collecting herself, she pushed through the gate and into the school yard, just now noticing how many students there actually were. The yard, though small, was packed with at least eighty students. They were scattered; the younger ones chasing each other, and the older ones more stationary, some leaning against walls and seeming as though they were actually talking about something worthwhile.

Maggie stood awkwardly by herself for a few minutes, until Mr. Dawes came outside and rung the bell that signaled the students to enter the building. The action caused a disorganized mob to flood the narrow doorway, and Maggie found herself squeezed in between an older girl and a small boy, both of whom were especially aggressive in their attempts to get in the door.

After tripping once and getting an elbow to the side, Maggie finally managed to slide through the doorway and into the hall, which was another nightmare. Students milled about almost aimlessly; talking, laughing, grumbling. A few stood still directly in the path meant for walking, and Maggie gave more than one dirty look as she manoeuvered by.

Mr. Moseley's classroom was past a left turn at the end of the hall, and tucked away by the stairs at the end of the second hallway. The door was open when Maggie reached it, and she cautiously stepped inside.

The room was a madhouse.

Students were scattered; a few were sitting at the wooden desks, but the majority were either standing, moving, or sitting _on_ the desks themselves. Right by the door stood a rough looking bunch of boys. If Maggie had to guess, they were in all likelihood farm boys. The weathered clothes and fading caps told her enough. They had thick Northern accents: thick to the point that Maggie had to almost strain to understand them. They weren't much older than her, maybe a year or two. But the way they held themselves portrayed them as thought they were much older.

Maggie hurriedly went around them, crossing the front of the room, hoping to find a seat near the window in the back. As she did, a crumpled up piece of paper barely missed her face as it sailed by and bounced off the nearby chalkboard. A few snickers followed.

Maggie ignored the annoyance and continued to a seat four desks back from the front. It was against the wall, just below a window that overlooked the school yard and the adjacent street.

The door squeaked open, and Maggie turned to see a boy about her age with a rather scholarly look enter the room. One of the farm boys at the front corner must've stuck his foot out as the other boy walked by, because suddenly he flew forward, hitting the ground with a loud _smack!_ A chorus of laughs sounded throughout the room.

Maggie only hunched down further in her desk, thinking only one thought.

 _I'm going to die..._

* * *

 **(1) Literally no idea how to punctuate that, but hopefully it doesn't look too bad.**

 **So, please tell me what you thought. I'm so so so sorry for the long delay. I've had so much homework and way too many commitments, and my writing time has dwindled, and I'm sorry about that. I'm also sorry for the roughness of this chapter. I know it's pretty bad in some places, but I didn't want you guys to think I'd disappeared. Anyway, please review!**

 **-downtonabbey15**


	15. Chapter 15

"Is this how you eat lunch at the Big House?"

The nearby voice startled Maggie, who jumped and looked to its source.

Mr. Moseley was standing a few metres away from where Maggie sat, nearly hidden from view, beside the trash bins behind the schoolhouse. Her lunch; a sandwich and an apple which she didn't intend to touch, were spread out on her lap.

"Don't tell my mother," she said with a scoff. "She'll have my head on a stake."

Moseley chuckled, then began to make his way towards her, carefully stepping around a few large bags of trash and some discarded debris. "Margaret, could um...Might I ask why...you're sitting with the trash?"

Maggie shrugged. "I don't like it out there."

"Out where? In the courtyard?"

Maggie nodded. "I don't know anyone."

"We went around the room today, first thing, and introduced ourselves."

"But the children in my class are so loud. They're obnoxious."

Moseley chuckled. "Yes, you um...I'm afraid you did get saddled with a rather ill-mannered class...But there are some very nice children in this school, Margaret. All you've got to do is find them."

Maggie looked back in the direction of the front of the building, where some of the students were finishing their lunches, while others talked or played games. She glanced back down at her lunch, then to Mr. Moseley.

"I'm alright here."

Moseley lingered a bit longer than necessary, but eventually headed towards the courtyard, his footsteps muffled by the grass. It was barely a minute later that the bell was rung, signaling to the students that it was time to return. Maggie reluctantly stood from her position, wadding up the half-eaten sandwich and still untouched apple, and tossing them in the trash bin. Mrs. Patmore would _kill_ her if she saw; _it's a waste_ , she'd say. _A bloody waste. He who wastes ends up wanting._ It wasn't wasting, not really.

The rats would be happy.

* * *

"How could you do this without my permission?!"

Isabel looked incredulously at her cousin as she surveyed the hall, clipboard in hand. "Do I need your permission?"

"You need my advice. _That_ is very clear."

Isabel moved across the room, surveying the cots that were being set up in organized lines. "Is this such a bad plan?"

Violet stormed after her, her cane pounding onto the wooden floorboards. "It is a poorly thought out plan! How in God's name did you arrange it all so quickly?"

"Cora helped me. And Edith. The two of them are coming down later to help set things up, with the girls. Although I'm not sure they know it yet."

"But, you couldn't have thought this through enough! What does Robert say?"

"Robert agreed with me."

"B-"

"Cousin Violet, I cannot sleep at night knowing that there are _children_ in London, as it is being bombed. We may not be able to do much, but taking in 50 children is at least doing our part."

"But they're from the streets! Will they be examined for disease? What about background checks? Will they be done?"

"They're children!"

"From _impoverished families_. No doubt they've learnt a few tricks."

Isabel turned, astonished by Violet's remark. "Really, Cousin Violet, I would think you, as a _generous_ benefactor of this village, would-"

"Exactly! My duty is to the people who live in this village! Not to care for the entirety of Britain!"

"I'm not asking you to care for the entirety, just a few homeless children!" Isabel headed towards a nearby table that held stacks of linen. She began checking them off on her clipboard.

"I refuse! I will not allow money for those of _this village_ to be used on vagrants! It is an _insult_ , especially when that money could be helping the War Effort."

"This _is_ helping the War Effort!"

"I don't see how!"

Isabel slammed the clipboard down on the table and turned with rage to face her cousin. " _Well then_ , Cousin Violet, if that is your opinion, I will ask you to _please leave_."

Violet fixed her with a hard glare. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Please leave the hall," Isabel repeated. "If you're not going to be of any assistance."

Violet remained where she was for a moment, staring Isabel down as if she expected her to cave and completely abandon the plan. She didn't.

With her head high, Violet turned and hurriedly exited the village hall.

* * *

"Come on, Mother," Maggie muttered to herself, peering through the rain at the road beside the school. She was doing her best to remain tucked underneath the small awning above the door, but the sudden onslaught of weather wasn't being kind, and Maggie was nearly drenched.

School had been let out nearly an hour ago, and Maggie was now the only child left at the building. Mothers and older siblings had escorted younger children home, and those who were not picked up ran quickly to their nearby houses. To Maggie, it was one of the many downsides to living in the house. If she waited at the school, and her mother forgot about her (which was really what it was looking like,) then she risked a scolding for being late. But if she did her best to run from the school to the house, she knew she would be chastised for the state of her clothes.

Well, this was a good situation.

Maggie let out an irritated sigh. She'd been standing here long enough. Surely if her mother was going to send a car, she'd have sent it by now. Maggie gathered up her school books and lunch pail and hurried down the school steps, ducking her head as the rain pelted her. She hurried through the school gate, and had barely began to run when a voice called out to her.

"Margaret!"

She turned. Nicholas Grey was hurriedly putting up an umbrella as he exited the telegraph office and came towards her. "Are you alone?"

"What?"

"Uh..I meant, are you walking alone?"

Maggie nodded.

"To the house?"

Again, a nod.

"And you've no one to escort you?"

"I thought my mother would send a car...but I think she's forgotten about me."

Nicholas chuckled. "She could never forget about you."

"Um...she has. Many times."

Nicholas laughed good-naturedly. "Well then," he said, repositioning the umbrella so that it shielded both of them. "Allow me to escort you. If you'd like."

 _Um...compared to this, getting soaked might be more preferable...but Mama-_

"Alright," she answered.

The two began the short walk towards the drive, the only sound the raindrops bouncing off the umbrella. Nicholas tried everything in his power to begin a light conversation.

"So, you've started attending the village school."

Maggie nodded.

"Your mother's keeping you out of London too?"

She turned to him. "Is that why you're coming up here? Because of the Germans?"

Nicholas nodded. "My mother doesn't think it's safe."

"I wish they'd just leave us alone. I wish we'd leave _them_ alone. Why can't we all just mind our own business?"

"Because Hitler's a terrible person."

"But he's not here. He their problem."

"But aren't we just as bad as Hitler if we stand by and watch?"

Maggie shrugged. "Maybe...but if we are going to fight him, I wish America would do _something_. London's being destroyed and they're still having a swell old time."

"They'll get involved."

"When?"

Nicholas chuckled. "When they feel like it."

The two fell into a comfortable silence, and remained that way until they had almost reached the end of the drive and the house was visible.

"Could I ask you something?" Nicholas asked her. He stopped and faced her, forcing Maggie to do the same.

"Sure."

"Would you...would you accompany me to lunch this Saturday? At Isabel's?"

"Will she mind?"

"She won't be there," Nicholas explained. "She's down at the village hall all week, and she doesn't get back until evening."

"Will she _know_?"

Nicholas averted his eyes, then met hers again. "She doesn't _have_ to."

Maggie looked wary. "Nicholas, I couldn't go without her knowing. And not without my mother's permission either."

"Oh, but...if you tell your mother, she'll tell Isabel."

Maggie eyed him. "Why can't she know?"

"Because...because she wouldn't allow it, that's why." By now the two had reached the front doors of the house. Nicholas walked Maggie up onto the steps, then stopped, umbrella still poised over his head. "But you'll think about it?"

Maggie sighed. "I'll think about it."

A broad smile spread across Nicholas' face, and he gave a quick little bow and began heading back down the drive. Suddenly, he turned back. "Would you let me walk you home tomorrow?"

Maggie inwardly sighed. "It might not rain tomorrow."

"Well, that won't matter," Nicholas insisted. "We could...make an outing of it. Maybe walk around the village?" Seeing the look on her face, he continued. "Unless you want to ride. You ride, don't you?"

Maggie bit back a scoff and nodded. "I ride."

"Do you have a horse?"

" _Yes._ "

Nicholas smiled. "Then it's settled. You just...name the date. Whenever you like."

She gave as bright a smile as she could muster. "Alright."

Nicholas nodded, and headed back down the drive for good this time.

When he was out of earshot, Maggie audibly groaned in frustration, and pushed through the large oak doors of the house. She was met with a rush of heat as she entered, and she quickly shut the doors, blocking out the cold air. She kicked off her shoes, (a habit Cora had forced her and George to develop as children when they came inside on rainy days,) and nearly jumped when a voice behind her said, "Miss?"

Barrow approached her quickly from the green baize door, his expression similar to his tone; confused.

"I thought you'd have been home earlier," he said, taking her jacket. Despite Nicholas' quick intervention, Maggie's clothes had still managed to become sopping wet, and a small puddle had begun to surround her.

"Mama never sent a car."

Barrow had to bite back a chuckle. "She forgot about you?"

Maggie nodded. "Apparently." She sighed. "Where is everyone?"

"Most of them are in the library. Shall I let them know you're here?"

"No no," Maggie answered quickly. "Just... _if_ they ask, tell them I'm home, but don't say anything if they don't bring it up."

"Yes, Miss."

Maggie headed for the stairs, being careful to keep to one side so as not to track water everywhere. As she reached the second landing, she heard a snicker from the first floor. **(1)**

Marigold was standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing. She eyed Maggie up and down.

"You look like a drowned cat."

Maggie hid a scoff. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

Maggie stopped at the top of the stairs and fixed Marigold with a harsh glare. A smug smile came over her cousin's face, and Maggie had to resist the urge to bite back with a nasty remark.

"I take everything as a compliment." _Yeah, right._

Marigold snickered again. "Doesn't that make for some rather uncomfortable moments?"

"On the contrary," Maggie called over her shoulder, heading in the direction of her bedroom. "It's very helpful."

She could hear a final scoff from Marigold as she turned the corner of the hallway, and she sighed. Marigold, in contrast to Nicholas, had grown nastier as she aged, and Maggie had the sinking feeling that she and her cousin were headed for becoming much like her mother and aunt.

She reached her room quickly, and hurriedly grabbed a fresh change of clothes from her wardrobe and headed behind her screen to change. She'd barely been behind it a minute when a soft knock sounded at her door. Whoever it was didn't even wait for a respons, and pushed the door open a moment later.

Maggie paused.

"Margaret?" Mary's voice called out.

 _Thanks a lot, Marigold,_ Maggie thought bitterly.

"Margaret?" Mary said again. "Are you back?"

"Yes, Mama," Maggie answered, pulling a dry blouse over her head.

"I didn't even realize you'd gotten out."

"...I got out at four o'clock."

An awkward silence fell, because a glance at the clock told Mary that it was a quarter past five.

 _Oh, dear..._

"I want you to change into something comfortable," she continued after a moment. "We're all heading down to the hall, to help Isobel set up for the London children."

"I'd rather not."

Pause. "Margaret, it wasn't a question."

Now Maggie emerged from behind the screen, changed into dryer clothes but still with damp hair. She gave her mother an almost pleading look. "Please, Mama? I just walked all the way from the village. I'm tired."

Mary looked unconvinced, and she replied cooly. "If you don't go today, you can expect to spend all of Saturday there, to help when they arrive."

"Fine."

Mary kept her eyes locked with hers for a moment, and Maggie thought she looked tempted to take it further, but Mary exhaled coolly.

"Alright," she said. "We'll be back before the gong. Try not to get into any trouble." She turned and exited the room smoothly, and was nearly bowled over by George in the hallway.

"Sorry," he quickly said.

"Heavens," his mother chuckled. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"I um...I thought I'd go for a walk."

"A walk?" Mary scoffed. "George, for heaven's sake, you'll drown! Why would you want to walk?"

"It's not that bad," George insisted. "It's lightened up a bit."

Mary didn't answer, instead peering at him in such an odd way that it made her son uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Where are you going, George?" Mary asked, completely serious now.

"Do I have to tell you?" George snapped back.

Mary's face hardened the moment the reply came out of her son's mouth. George softened a bit, realizing how he'd said it.

"I'll be back by dinner," he assured, turning in the direction of the stairs.

"You'll be back _before_ dinner."

George paused, pressing down the swelling frustration in his chest. "Yes, Mama." He hurried towards the stairs, taking them nearly two at a time, and he'd reached the front hall before his mother even made it to the first landing.

Because there was no way in _bloody hell_ that he was about to tell his mother that he was going to Haxby.

* * *

 **(1) Correct me if I'm wrong but in Europe, buildings go ground floor, then first floor instead of first-second like they do in North America. Which of course the European way makes more sense, but oh well...**

 **Okay...**

 **Well...**

 **Yeah guys! I'm still writing this story! 'Cause that was like a four month wait and anybody who was dying for the next chapter, I'm so so sorry. School is so much right now, and I do a lot of theatre and music so I have like, no time anymore. But I promise you this story is not abandoned! It will keep going! Just kinda slowly right now...**

 **Anyway, that chapter was pretty blehhhh, but I needed to post something, so I hope you guys liked it. Please review!**

 **-downtonabbey15 :)**


	16. Chapter 16

1929 had been a rough year, to say the least, for business owners. Richard Carlisle, shrewd as he was, had lost a good quarter of his fortune. In an effort to recover, he'd put Haxby, broken down and unkempt, on the market. Even he knew that houses of that size, at that time, weren't worth even half as much as they had been a decade earlier. And with the economy the way it was, it didn't surprise him one bit when he only found one prospective buyer. So of course, being a businessman, Richard Carlisle took the opportunity.

The Holdsworths were travelers, with a house in Montreal and a string of debts a mile long. Still, they didn't let that stop them. They vacationed from Rome all the way to the Nile, while their children, Mason and Charlotte, sat in a boarding school in Northern France. Then Edward Holdsworth, in a stroke of what many called drunken luck, struck it rich with an oil line in Egypt. Or maybe it was a tea plantation. George was never sure nor would he ever care. But the Holdsworths bought Haxby from Carlisle for a steal, and quickly became a prominent family.

They met the Crawleys at Downton, when they appeared, unannounced, at the door with the intention of introducing themselves. Charlotte was a year younger than George, and, in Maggie's words, an absolute brat. She was haughty and disapproving, and thoroughly expected to be waited on hand and foot. She and Maggie had shared more than a few harsh words. But she was attractive, and as he reached his teenage years, that was good enough for George.

All those other things could simply be...brushed aside. At least to some degree.

The butler at Haxby was old, ancient even, and he kept George in the front hall while he headed to locate Charlotte.

George had distant memories of attending Haxby as a child. He'd only been there a few times, (he and Charlotte had opted to meet in secret as they grew older, out of the disapproving view of their respective parents,) and the last time he'd stood in this spot, he was barely 14 years old, and had witnessed a good row between Charlotte and his sister. It had been about something trivial, he was sure, even though he couldn't quite remember.

"Hey."

Charlotte's smooth voice roused him from his thoughts. She'd snuck up on him, and now stood leaning with her back to one of the hall's pillars.

George smiled. "Hello," he replied, approaching her.

Charlotte chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you're not dead at least. I wouldn't know of course," she turned away, then sent a look back in his direction. "'Cause you never wrote me. Mauvais garçon." **(1)**

George smiled again and took her in his arms. Her Canadian accent, mixed with the French undertone, was music to his ears. "I was busy," he said defensively.

"Doing what?" she argued, resting her arms on his shoulders. "Nothing's been happening. I do read the papers."

George chuckled. "No you don't. Charlotte, you've hardly touched a book since you left school."

"That doesn't mean I'm ignorant. Can't you tell me _anything_?"

George's cheeriness lessened. "I don't _know_ anything. It's all just a mess. _Everything_ is a mess."

"You mean your family?"

He nodded.

"Do I want to know?"

"I doubt it."

Charlotte smiled. "Well, what do you say..." her fingers moved slowly to his jacket, unbuttoning it. "I try to take your mind off it."

* * *

"No no! I want that placed right over by the door! No, not-"

Sybbie's eyes found the heavens at the sound of Isabel's voice. She'd been inside the village hall approximately 47 seconds and she was already filled with dread. Isabel was nice, really, but when she had the bit between her teeth, she was not a person one wanted to cross.

Pitying the poor man who was now her aunt's target, Sybbie hurried across the room. Maggie stood at a table in the far corner of the hall, a basket piled high with linens in front of her. Several small folded piles covered the table. Sybbie approached her and stopped at the edge of the table.

"Did you know George left on the milk train?"

If Maggie heard her, she gave no indication.

" _Margaret_."

"What."

"Did you-"

" _Yes,_ " Maggie cut in. "I knew. Anna told me when she came up this morning."

"Did you speak to him?"

"No."

"Maggie!"

"What?! What do you want me to say?"

"You could've apologized. Maggie, if something happens to him you'll never forgive yourself."

Maggie didn't answer.

Sybbie continued. "I'm not saying what he said was right. You both said things you shouldn't have. But George tried to apologize and you didn't want any part of it. _That's_ on you."

Again, silence.

Sybbie huffed. "You're fourteen years old, Margaret. You really need to start acting like it."

Maggie's eyes snapped up. Luckily for Sybbie, Isabel stopped any chance of a fight.

"Attention everyone!" she called from the front of the hall. "If you'll follow me to the station. The train will be arriving at any minute."

Sybbie couldn't help the sigh that escaped her. "Come on," she said, motioning to her cousin.

Maggie reluctantly followed.

* * *

"Cousin Isabel will drive us all into an early grave," Marigold grumbled, rudely throwing her coat to Barrow as she and her cousins entered the house.

"She was only trying to be kind," Sybbie protested, handing her coat over in a more civil fashion.

Marigold turned to face her. "I don't give a damn what she was trying to do. Those children looked _frightened_ and with good reason. What with the way she was shouting at everyone. She's so bloody loud."

"Those children were frightened because their homes are being bombed," Sybbie said. "They've left most of their families and are in a new place where they don't know anyone. I hardly think their biggest concern is the volume of Isabel's voice."

Marigold looked about to protest, but said nothing. Sybbie rarely, if ever, snapped at anyone. But seeing the children that day had hit a bit of a sore spot with her, and she wasn't in the mood for Marigold's petty drama. She headed for the stairs, eager to get out of the tense atmosphere. Marigold and Maggie slowly followed, ascending the stairs side by side.

"She's so middle class," Marigold ranted. She shot a look at her cousin. "And why are you suddenly so sour? More so than usual, I mean."

"I am _not_ sour," Maggie protested indignantly.

"Yes you are."

Maggie scoffed. "You're one to talk."

The 16-year-old rolled her eyes, but stopped as they reached the top of the staircase.

"Ignoring that...anything I can help with?"

Maggie shook her head. "No, thank you."

"Oh, come on! You nearly drown George at breakfast and you two part without even speaking. What's it about?"

"None of your business," Maggie said firmly, heading for her room.

"Why does Sybbie know but not me? I've heard you two talking and you both know _something_. Why am I always left out?"

"Marigold, you're not being left out. There's nothing to tell you."

"That's a lie."

"It is not."

Marigold crossed her arms over her chest. "Well. If you won't tell me then I won't tell you _my_ secret."

Maggie smirked. "How ever will I go on?" She headed for her room once more.

"It's about someone you know," Marigold teased.

"I'm not interested."

Marigold eyed her cousin's retreating back. "You should be."

* * *

Maggie didn't consider herself an entirely heartless person. She'd been called such on numerous occasions, mainly by her mother, but she liked to think she had at least a bit of compassion.

Which is why she couldn't quite tear herself away from the school gate at the moment. Class had let out long ago, and she'd intended to avoid the rush of students, so she took her time, and exited through the side entrance and gate. But as she passed by the front, the words pelted her ears.

"Your parents are _dead_."

"No they're not!"

Maggie peered through the bars of the gate. Cowering on the front steps of the school, back to the wall, was a girl who couldn't have been older eight. One of the London children. She was surrounded by three rough looking boys, all of whom Maggie recognized from her class.

"You'll die too, when you go back," the one who seemed to be the leader said. "The Nazis will bomb your house, and they'll find you, and when they-"

He seemed to notice Maggie, and his head snapped in her direction. "What's the matter with you?" he spat, his accent heavy enough that Maggie had to listen carefully to understand him.

She took a slight step forward and swallowed hard, just now realizing how large the boys were compared to her. She was pudgy alright, but in no way muscular. And if they came at her...

 _Walk away walk away walk awa-_

"Why don't you leave her alone?" she said calmly, coming inside the gate now.

"It's none of your business _Crawley_ , so off with you."

Maggie came closer. "I am _not_ a Crawley, and I think it's very much my business." Maggie was surprised with how she herself spoke the name. She sounded as if she respected it no more than he did. "What could she have possibly done to deserve being spoken to like that?" She stood on the steps now, placing herself between the girl and the boys.

The main boy didn't hesitate to tower over her. "She's here. That's enough. She doesn't belong here, none of them do. It's only putting us in danger."

"I daresay you can handled yourself." She glanced at the open gate. "Go find something else to do."

"Are you going to make me?"

"...Would you like me to?"

The boy glared at her, then chuckled. "Fortunately for you, I don't hit girls."

Maggie came closer and looked up so their faces were mere inches apart. "Fortunately for you, I won't mention this conversation to anyone. Because if I did, I could send a number of men after you, and I promise you won't come out unscathed as you will if you leave now." She sent a glance towards the gate. "It's your choice."

The boy followed her gaze, and realized a few passerby were beginning to look at the spectacle. He turned back to her, his face hard.

"You think you're so far above us," he said softly.

Maggie smiled lightly. "I do." She nodded towards the gate. "You can go now."

"There a problem here?" a man walking by the gate called out. The boys immediately broke apart and began to leave.

"No, sir," the main one answered as he left. He threw a glance to Maggie, still on the steps. "No problem."

The man seemed satisfied, and continued on his way as Maggie stared after the boys' retreating forms.

The young girl, still hunched in a ball on the steps, had gradually ceased crying and was now peering up at Maggie.

Maggie locked eyes with her, quickly becoming much more subdued. She had no experience with children except for the day prior to that. No patience for them either. And the girl's wide eyes and constant sniffling already made her uncomfortable.

"Did they hurt you?" she asked, a bit coldly.

The girl shook her head.

"What's your name?"

The girl sniffled again. "J-Juliana."

Maggie surveyed the school grounds and folded her arms over her chest. "Is no one coming to take you home?"

Juliana shook her head "no".

Maggie didn't attempt to hide her annoyance as she sighed and slung the strap of her school books over her shoulder. "Where are you staying?"

The girl slowly stood, grabbing her own books. "Um, with Mr. and Mrs. Fisher."

Maggie headed for the gate. Stoneridge Farm. The Fisher's were tenants of Robert's, and the small farm was located just off the main drive. At least it was on her way.

Small mercies.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder. "I'll walk you there."

The two began heading down the main road of the village, towards the drive of the house where a road would eventually break off towards the Fishers' farm. Juliana had to hurry to keep pace with Maggie, who walked quickly in hopes to make the excursion a short one.

"What's your name?"

Maggie kept her eyes focused ahead. "Margaret."

Juliana peered up at her. "I'm from London, you know. Where are you from?"

"Here."

"You've always lived here?"

Maggie nodded shortly.

"Have you ever been to London?"

"Yes."

"It's beautiful. At least it was. Who are the Nazis?"

"They're...very bad people."

"What did we do, to make them so angry with us?"

Maggie did her best to mask her growing irritation. "Nothing."

"We must have done _something_ to make them so mad at us."

Maggie had no answer, and Juliana seemed to take the hint and dropped the subject. The two walked in silence for a while, until they reached the drive and Juliana piped up again.

"Where do you live?"

Maggie sighed and pointed up the path. "Up there. In the house."

Juliana's eyes widened. "At Downton?"

She nodded.

"Are you rich?"

"...My family is."

"What does your room look like? Mummy always said if we were rich mine would be much bigger, and I'd have my very own balcony, and-"

"Juliana," Maggie interrupted, pointing down a road that branched off the main drive. "See that farm there? That's the Fishers'."

"Do you have a balcony?"

"No." Maggie turned back in the direction of the house.

"Why not? Don't you want one? You can always ask, ca-"

"Juliana," Maggie snapped, physically turning the girl and nudging her towards the farm. " _Go_."

Juliana looked crestfallen. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, but they'll wonder where you are. Then we'll both be in trouble." Maggie motioned her on, then turned around again. She barely made it two steps before a pair of arms wrapped around her waist in a tight hug.

"Thank you for walking me," Juliana said softly. "I'm glad you did." After a few moments, she pulled back. "Mummy was afraid I'd have trouble making friends when I got here." She smiled. "Now I can write her and tell her I've made one." She extended her right pinky to Maggie. "Friends?"

For a moment, Maggie hesitated. She'd never had any friends outside of her family. Most of her experiences with other children her age were negative, and she suspected Juliana was in almost the same spot. The eight-year-old looked hopefully up at her. Maggie hooked their pinkies with a small smile.

"Friends."

* * *

 **(1)** French- bad boy (I got this from Google translate so if there are ever any foreign language errors I'm sorry guys.

Hey people. I haven't abandoned this story, even though it may seem like it. I'm having some personal things going on right now, and the chapters really aren't coming to me as easy as I'd like. But I will be continuing this story, don't worry. Thank you to everyone who's put up with my terrible updating schedule, and to any new viewers: I update on a really sporadic schedule but I do update. And this story will be getting interesting soon so keep coming back

I hope you guys liked this chapter. It's a little rough but I had to get Juliana in ASAP because she's important. I won't tell you why obviously, but she is.

Anyway I hope this was enough to satisfy you guys for a little bit. What did George and Charlotte get up to? Who is Marigold's secret about? Will I ever write a short author's note? ;) Anyway, drop a review/follow/fav (or all three) and until next time guys!


	17. Chapter 17

_Mid-December, 1940_

"Isn't it darling?" Juliana practically shoved the card under Maggie's nose. "He's so sweet."

The two were sitting at the back of the school by the garbage, school books strewn about as they sat curled up on a back step. Juliana's nearly finished lunch lay disregarded at her side. The air was chilly, but still deemed suitable enough for the children to eat outside. Each girl was bundled up tightly in winter attire.

Maggie took the poorly crafted card and tried to mask her distaste. "Juliana, you're seven. I hardly think you need to worry about boys."

"But he's not like the other boys in my class," Juliana protested, rising to her knees. "The other boys are mean and they call all the girls names but not Simon. He's terribly nice."

"Yes, well..." Maggie sighed and handed the card back to her.

"But look! He drew me on a pony!" She sighed contentedly. "I've always wanted a pony, how did he _know_?!"

Maggie glanced at her curiously. "You want to learn to ride?"

Juliana nodded. "I've always dreamed of it." She bounced onto her knees excitedly. "For my birthday this year daddy got me a book about a princess and she rode a horse and it took her to a beautiful, magical palace and-"

"Alright, alright," Maggie chided, holding a hand out to stop the girl. "Tell you what: how about I teach you?"

Juliana's face lit up as though she'd celebrated Christmas ten times over, and she sprang to her feet in less than a moment.

"Will you truly?!" she exclaimed. "Truly truly truly?!"

" _Yes_. I will if you _calm down_."

"Can we go start today?!"

"What? No, Juliana it's _freezing_."

The small, clanging bell that ordered their return to the building sounded, and they quickly gathered their belongings and began to head back towards the main courtyard.

"But," Juliana prodded, scrambling to catch up to Maggie as she walked. "If it's warmer when school lets out can we go? Please Maggie, please?"

Maggie chuckled lightly. "Tell you what: you give me this afternoon to find some old riding clothes for you. You go home and ask Mrs. Fisher's permission and _if_ she says yes...then I suppose it's all right."

Juliana cheered and did a little jump, running ahead in an attempt to beat Maggie to the doors. The older girl sighed, but couldn't stop the smile that crept across her face.

* * *

"Where the bloody hell could they have gone..." Maggie muttered to herself, tossing a pair of her good Sunday shoes aside. She spent the previous afternoon digging through her wardrobe in an attempt to locate old riding clothes that would fit Juliana. Hoping to avoid suspicion from Anna and Baxter, she'd tucked the clothes and shoes away in a corner of the boot room she was sure wouldn't be investigated. She found the clothes easy enough. The shoes however...

Juliana, now dressed in outdated riding attire and seated on top of the table, fiddled impatiently with her hair. It hung in honey-brown locks around her shoulders, despite the fact that Margaret had encouraged her to pull it back so she could see. "Maggieeeeee," she whined. "Why can't I just wear _my_ shoes?"

Maggie sat back on her heels. "Because you could fall. If you wear proper shoes it's safer."

"But Maggie," Juliana cried again. She leaned dramatically across the table. "I want to go nowwwww!"

The older girl sighed. "If you fall, it's not my fault." She rose and brushed the dust off her knees. "Don't forget your bag."

"What bag?"

"The one with your clothes in it. We're not coming back here afterwards. All the servants will be down here, they'll see us." She began to head for the door.

"Do you have a lot of servants?" Juliana asked, stretching out her arms so Maggie would help her down.

Maggie grabbed her under the armpits and set her down gently, handing her the stuffed schoolbag and ensuring she had it on securely before they headed outside.

"Do you have a lot of servants?"

"Not quite a lot. We have enough."

"Can I meet one?"

"...Why?"

Juliana shrugged. "Do they like it?"

"What?"

"Serving you."

"...Juliana, they're just working."

"Do _you_ like it? My mummy says if we were rich we'd have lots of maids. She said she and daddy had one before the war. We don't have one now though and mummy hates it. She says when the Nazis go home we're going to-"

Just as they reached the door it swung open, and they stopped short as Bates entered. He paused, giving Margaret an odd look.

"Beg your pardon, Miss," he said with a slight nod. He moved against the door to make way for them.

"Hullo!" Juliana said brightly. "Are you a servant?"

Bates couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Yes. And you are?"

"You're old for a servant," the girl stated, rather than give her name. "I thought they were young."

"Juliana!"

Juliana looked from Bates to Maggie and back again. "She's my best friend," she said, nodding at Maggie with pride.

Bates smiled. "Is she? Well, aren't you lucky. Miss Margaret's a very good friend, I'm sure."

"Is she in charge of you?"

Maggie leaned down so she could look the girl in the eyes. "Juliana remember the door we came in? It's right down the hall, go wait there for me."

"But I want to stay!"

"You just said you wanted to go! Go and wait by the door for me, and I promise I'll be right there."

Juliana reluctantly exited the room, turning and shouting, "Bye!" to Bates with a wave before skipping off down the hall.

Bates chuckled and turned to Margaret with a smile.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "She's a bit...eccentric."

"Who is she?"

"Her name's Juliana. She's from London."

"...I see."

"She, um...she doesn't get along very well with some of the other children. She likes me." She shrugged. "I don't know why."

"It looks to me like you're very kind to her."

Maggie shook her head. "I just walk her home. But she wants to learn to ride so..." She lowered her voice. "Bates please don't tell my mother. She'd be angry if she found out I brought her here."

"Why would you think that?"

Again, she shrugged. "She just would."

Bates hesitated, then nodded. "All right."

"Thank you."

He smiled warmly and watched as Margaret headed down the hall to where Juliana stood. They headed out the door a moment later.

Bates chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

His wife's voice brought him out of his thoughts and he turned. Anna stood in the hall ahead of him, a freshly-ironed dress laid out across her arms. He smiled.

"Just something. I'll tell you tonight."

"I've got time now," Anna said, opening the door to one of the wardrobe rooms. She smiled and headed inside, and he followed.

* * *

"Make sure you sit tall. If not, you won't be able to balance when we start moving."

Maggie's advice went unheeded as she bent by Sonny, adjusting the stirrup irons so they hung at a more appropriate length. Juliana, significantly more subdued than she had been earlier in the day, continued to slouch in the saddle.

It had taken Maggie the better part of an hour to get Sonny quietly out of the stable and tacked up. She used an old saddle from when she was a child so it would be easier for Juliana, but getting the saddle onto Sonny, who'd also grown, was quite the challenge. They were now at the furthest point of the pasture behind the stables, far enough out that no one in Downton could see what they were doing, yet close enough that they remained on flat ground, rather than attempt the steep hills that lay closer to the woods.

Maggie rose and observed the length, then stopped. "Juliana, straighten up. I don't want you to fall. There's no one on that side and even if you fall towards me, I can't catch you."

"Yes, but...I'm cold." The seven-year-old's voice nearly cracked, and she sat curled in on herself miserably.

"You're wearing your jacket," Maggie countered. "And it's not that cold out here."

"But...I don't want to be up here anymore. I want to come down."

Maggie hesitated, feeling her patience wavering but still trying not to be too harsh. "There's nothing to be scared of. I'll be right here."

"I'm not scared."

"Then what is it? Juliana, I dragged this old saddle all the way out here so you'd be comfortable, and I got Sonny ready and warmed up, all because you wanted to ride, and now you don't."

Juliana looked as though she were about to cry. "I want to go back to Mrs. Fisher. Please, Maggie." She extended her hands to be lifted off the horse.

Margaret sighed and flung the reins down in exasperation. She grabbed Juliana roughly under the arms and lifted her off of Sonny, placing her on the ground.

"Oww!" Juliana cried. She gave Maggie's arm a hard whack. "You don't have to be so nasty!"

Maggie turned to her, face scrunched in rage. She didn't think, instead raised her hands aggressively in frustration. Juliana flinched as though she were about to be struck. Maggie caught it, and she stopped cold. A tense moment of silence passed between them. Maggie heard nothing but the rush of blood through her head and the violnet pounding of her pulse.

 _She was frightened of me. She thought I would hit her. She's realized how awful I truly am and she thought I would actually hit her. Oh Dear God..._

The slap of the cold air on her face brought her back to the current situation."Look," she said, still angry but not nearly as harsh as before. "You're the one who wanted to come out here, because _you_ wanted to ride! If you're a baby and can't do it, that's your own problem. But don't take it out on me." She took hold of Sonny's reins and began to lead him back to the stables.

Juliana stood in the grass, arms crossed as she shivered. "Are you going to walk me home?"

"You know the way."

"But Maggie I don't feel well!" Juliana began to sob now, keeping her arms crossed but bowing her head as she shook with cries. Maggie stopped where she was, unsure how to handle the situation.

"Margaret."

The voice came from behind her, and she turned. Nicholas Grey was coming through the grass from the direction of the house. He was wrapped in a black winter coat, and the breeze was pushing his hair into his eyes.

"Oh, hello."

"The butler said I'd find you here. Are you all right?" he asked, stopping beside her. He nodded to Juliana. "Who's that?"

Maggie sighed. "This is Juliana. Juliana, this is Nicholas."

Juliana continued to cry and paid no attention to the introduction. Nicholas knelt down in front of her. "Hey, hey. What's the matter?" He moved to cup her chin comfortingly, but the moment he touched her skin, his hand moved to her forehead. "Hey there, you've got a temperature." He turned a bit worriedly to Maggie. "Where does she live?"

"She's from London. She's staying with the Fishers."

Nicholas nodded. He turned back to Juliana. "What do you say we take you home, eh?" He hoisted her into his arms and placed her on his hip, letting her head rest on his shoulder. "Are you coming?" he asked Maggie.

She hesitated. "I have to get Sonny back."

A look of disappointment flashed across Nicholas's face, and Maggie wasn't sure if it was due to her behavior, or the fact that he wouldn't be walking with her.

"All right. I'll see you at dinner tonight, then."

"Are you coming?"

"Yes."

Maggie paused, her gaze lingering on Juliana. The girl's eyes were locked longingly on her, and suddenly Maggie craved to take her in her own arms and hold her close and apologize because she hadn't meant to lose her temper that way, not at all. She was tired and irritable and a million other things, and she'd taken it out on a seven-year-old who'd done nothing but adore her unconditionally, and was now silently reaching out for her, even after what had just transpired.

 _You're a tyrant, that's what you are. You're a monster. You're just like your mother..._

Juliana extended a hand out for her to take.

Maggie stumbled back. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said quickly, turning and leading Sonny away.

The call that followed was soft and tearful, but audible none-the-less.

"Maggie, _please_."

She didn't look back.

* * *

Margaret managed to avoid Nicholas for the majority of the evening. He sent her indiscernible looks across the table which she vehemently ignored in a respectful attempt to get him to abandon the issue from earlier in the afternoon. However after the ladies had gone through, Maggie found herself alone by the fire as the rest of the women alternated between gossip and multiple rounds of bridge. The men followed shortly after, and Nicholas wasted no time in taking up temporary residence on the ottoman at her feet.

"How do you know her? The little girl?" he eventually asked after a bit of awkward casual conversation.

Maggie sighed. "I just walk her home each day. Some of the boys in my class were giving her trouble, so...They don't bother her when she's with me."

"I see. That's very kind of you."

Maggie subtly shook her head, but said nothing.

Nicholas took a sip of water from the glass in his hand and remained silent for a few moments. When he spoke, his voice held a gentleness that Maggie wasn't used to, not anymore. "What happened today?"

"Why is it any of your business?" Maggie snapped, instantly regretting it when Nicholas' eyes fell with a painful glance.

 _See? He was only trying to be nice..._

"She wanted to learn to ride," she explained, not quite masking her irritation but containing herself a bit nonetheless. "I got Sonny tacked with an old saddle so it would be comfortable for her, and I brought him outside and helped her mount him and then she said she didn't want to ride anymore."

"She was _ill_ , Margaret. Of course she didn't want to."

"Then why didn't she say that before I'd gotten everything ready?"

"Margaret..."

"It just irked me that's all."

"Why was she carrying on like she was? She was terribly upset when I took her to the Fishers'."

"She was angry with me."

"...No she wasn't. Margaret, she thought you were vexed with _her_. She kept going on as though she'd done something to make you angry."

Maggie fell silent again. "I wasn't angry," she eventually said softly. "I was frustrated."

Nicholas lowered his voice even further, despite the fact that the rest of the room's occupants were much too absorbed in their own conversations to pay mind to the two by the fire.

"Did you say something to her? That made her believe you were mad?"

Maggie shook her head.

"Did-"

"I was frustrated," Maggie repeated. Her face contorted for a moment and her breath caught, but in a moment the crack in the wall was replaced with her stoic façade as she kept her eyes locked on the flames in the fireplace. "I was frustrated, and she thought-" another hitched breath "...she thought I was going to strike her. She flinched...and looked at me as though I were about to strike her."

A thick silence settled over them.

"...Were you?"

Maggie's eyes met his and she glared at him with a mix of dark anger and intense hurt. The tension between them rose considerably.

"No. I would _never_."

More silence. Nicholas stared intently at the carpet as he tried to figure out the right thing to say.

"Why don't you go see her tomorrow?" he suggested gently. "After school. I'm sure it would help if you talked with her."

"She won't want to see me."

"Margaret...she will. You didn't hear her as I walked her home. She was distraught."

Again, silence.

"Go to her."

"I don't know." Her voice was flat, devoid of all emotion except a deep exhaustion that Nicholas suspected wasn't quite physical. "I'll think about it."

"Nicholas," a voice called from across the room. His mother was standing by the bridge table, along with Isobel and Rosamunde as they talked. "We're heading home. Hurry along, please."

He reluctantly stood. "Yes, mother." She headed for the Hall as he turned back to Margaret, who was still staring into the fire.

"And if I go there," she said suddenly, catching him off guard. "And she hates me...what'll I do then?"

"She won't hate you."

"And if she does?" She raised her head to meet his eyes. She looked spent. He could have sworn she was about to cry.

"She won't. I know she won't."

" _Nicholas_." It was his mother again, standing in the doorway looking miffed.

"I'm sorry," he called, only briefly giving her a glance before turning back to Margaret. "I have to go." He averted his gaze as he searched for some word or phrase to smooth things over and ease the tension. His mind came up blank. He turned to leave.

"Why do you keep coming back here?"

He turned back to face her. "W-"

"I'm horrid to you. And yet you come back."

"You're not horrid. And I was awful to you as a child, so even if you _were_ horrid, which you're _not_ , I'd say I deserved it."

He chuckled lightly, in hopes to lighten the mood and wipe the saddened look off her face before he left. She didn't laugh in return, and he awkwardly busied himself ensuring his dinner jacket was straight.

"...Do you think I'm a bad person?"

He stopped. The question was barely a whisper, almost inaudible. As though the speaker debated whether or not it should be voiced. But he'd heard it. Quite clearly.

"No...do you?"

She hesitated. "Sometimes...yes."

" _Nicholas, for Heaven's sake._ "

"You should go," Maggie insisted, not rising from her seat or sounding the least bit more lively than she had during the conversation. "Goodnight."

He paused. Her expression, her body language, her voice...they were indicating he should leave, before an uncomfortable situation fell upon them. But her eyes...they pleaded with him to stay.

He hesitated. "Goodnight."

She watched them leave, then headed towards her own room. No one questioned her. No one followed. Not a soul in the drawing room noticed her exit.

It was just as well, she supposed. She deserved nothing more.

* * *

"What point do you think Chaucer was trying to make?"

Mr. Moseley's question went unanswered as the students awkwardly shifted in their seats. He lightly dropped his worn copy of The Canterbury Tales onto his desk and came around the front so he could look them in the eyes.

"Well?"

An older boy seated directly in front of Margaret raised his hand.

Moseley nodded. "Yes, Earnest?"

Earnest, barely fifteen, stood awkwardly beside his desk. "What was the question sir?"

This triggered a few snickers.

Moseley sighed. "Wh-"

A sharp knock at the door drew their attention. Moseley crossed the room and opened it. Mr. Dawes entered but remained just inside the door.

"Pardon the interruption, Mr. Moseley. Is now a good time?"

Moseley chuckled a bit. "As good a time as any. How can I help?"

"It's regarding the, um...What I spoke with you about this morning." He didn't finish, but Mr. Moseley seemed to understand.

"Oh, um...of course."

Mr. Dawes seemed a bit nervous, and hurried to the front of the room. The students whispered unintelligibly amongst themselves.

"Children," he called. "If-if I could have your attention please."

The group gradually quieted.

Mr. Dawes waved to someone outside the door, and a man in a warden's suit entered with a large wooden box. He quickly exited and began bringing in multiple boxes identical to the first.

"Children, this is Mr. Kendrick. He's Head Warden at the new Air Raid Precautions Centre in York. He has some very important information to share with you, so please give him your undivided attention."

Mr. Kendrick now came to the front of the room, straightening his suit and breathing hard from the excursion with the boxes.

"Good afternoon, children," he said. "I'll try to be brief, and if you cooperate with Mr. Dawes and I we'll get you home to your families in no time at all." He opened one of the crates and removed a smaller box. He peeled open the lid and removed an atrocious looking contraption.

"Do any of you know what this?"

* * *

"Come in," Mary responded to the soft knock on her door.

Maggie entered tentatively, closing the door behind her.

Mary turned on her vanity seat with a tight smile. "How was school?"

"All right." She came forward hesitantly and extended a folded slip of paper. Mary took it, a bit confused.

"It's a letter from Mr. Dawes."

"Have you done something wrong?"

Her daughter shook her head.

Mary began to unfold the letter before she stopped, seeming to just now notice the box attached to the strap clenched in Maggie's fist. "What's that?"

"...A gas mask."

Utter silence.

Mary visibly startled. Gingerly, she took hold of the strap and set the box on her lap. She lifted the lid and nearly recoiled when the hideous thing stared back at her.

"An air raid warden came in today. We all got one. He said-"

"I know what he said..." She met her daughter's eyes. "Everyone in the village was informed of them today. The rest of us are going to the hall tomorrow to receive ours. I just didn't think you'd...I didn't think they'd give you yours today." She stared at the thing a bit longer with an indiscernible expression, then closed the lid and handed it back to her daughter. "Take it and put it in your room, but whatever you do don't lose it." She stood and headed towards her nightstand.

"Why are they just giving them to us now? The warden said London's had them for ages."

"Because we're in Yorkshire, Margaret," Mary said, opening the top drawer of the bedtable and rifling through her belongings. "Only an idiot would come all the way here to bomb Britain." She tucked a book under her arm and shut the drawer with a _slam_ _!_ "But London seems to be cracking down on safety now. I suppose the rest of the country is as well." She stopped. "It's nothing to be frightened of."

"I'm not frightened."

Mary was silent for a moment. "Go put it in your room."

Margaret hesitated, then exited the room, heading down the hallway towards her own room. Just before she turned the corner, Anna hurried out of the green baize door at the end of the hall.

"Miss Margaret," she said, a bit out of breath. "Mr. Nicholas Grey is in the library. He asked to see you."

"Oh, um...would you put these in my room then, please?" she asked, handing over her school books and the box.

"Of course."

She quickly reversed directions and headed down the staircase and across the great hall, taking a deep breath to steady herself before pushing open the large wooden door.

Nicholas was standing by the fire, his eyes locked on the flames as though he was lost deep in thought.

"Good afternoon," she said softly, startling him. "What are you doing here?"

Nicholas came around the sofa to meet her, his demeanor a bit nervous. "I um...I needed to speak with you. I'm sorry I'm unannounced."

"Is something the matter?"

Nicholas looked incredibly pained. "Um...I-I...Did you go t-to see that little girl today?" He seemed to struggle to get the words out.

"...No. Why?"

He seemed as though he were about to cry. "I um...I spoke with Major Clarkson, to make sure it wasn't just gossip." He ran a hand through his hair. "Margaret..."

"Wh...what is it?"

"...Margaret...Juliana passed away, a few hours ago."

...

For a moment, Maggie felt nothing. Then Nicholas's words washed over her in a wave of heaviness, and her pulse began to pound in her head as though someone was banging a mallet inside of it. A brick fell to the bottom of her stomach, and pain shot up through her chest and to her heart. Her breathing quickened, and she opened her mouth to speak, yet no sound came out. She tried again, and her voice broke as though she'd swallowed glass.

"W-what?"

Tears pooled in Nicholas's eyes. "He said it was the fever, but he didn't say what she had. But he...he was over there most of the day, everyone said. And he...he couldn't save her. I'm sorry, Margaret. I'm so, so sorry."

Maggie backed up from him, her breaths now coming in harsh, wheezing gasps. A strangled cry escaped her mouth that she hadn't meant to release. Her stomach lurched, and suddenly she was across the room and opening up the glass doors to retch into the grass. She heard Nicholas call her, heard him stride across the room and pull the rope to summon one of the servants, and like bloody hell was she going to stay here and wait for Barrow or someone to come. She wiped a string of bile from her mouth with the back of her hand, stumbled forward, then bolted.

If Nicholas called out to her or attempted to follow she didn't know. Her legs burned and her sides screamed, but she didn't look back nor did she stop until she reached one of the furthest points of the pasture behind the house, the same spot she'd stood with Juliana barely twenty-four hours ago. There she fell to her knees and began to retch again.

 _It can't be true...it can't possibly be true. He's lying. He isn't any better than he was as a child and he's telling an awful lie._

She shakily wiped a bit of sick from her chin and stood unsteadily, knees knocking together as she stared bleary-eyed across the fields.

The Fisher's farm was clearly visible from this spot, and part of the reason she'd chosen it for their lesson. So Mrs. Fisher could keep an eye on them if she wished, and so Juliana wouldn't feel quite so intimidated by the vast area and Downton itself. But she could clearly see the barn and paddocks and the gravel drive that led to the house. And parked on the drive, just in front of the house, was the truck from Grassby's.

 _Oh God...Oh God oh God oh God...you bloody monster. You couldn't even go see her. You yelled at her and she'd done nothing wrong and now-_

Now she was dead.

Maggie shook, her shoulders quaking as tears gathered in her eyes and began to stream down her cheeks. At first she cried silently, sinking to her knees despite the wet grass that quickly soaked through her dress. She sat back on her heels and tilted her head towards the sky.

For the first time in years, Maggie began to sob.

* * *

 **I feel so bad killing her off. But this will all be more explained in the next chapter I promise. Sorry again for the long wait, and thank you to everyone who is sticking with this story. I really appreciate it. I hope you guys liked this chapter. Please review! :) God Bless!**


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